


Teen Wolf Tumblr Ficlets

by DevilDoll



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 92,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilDoll/pseuds/DevilDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Teen Wolf ficlets originally posted on my Tumblr. Warnings available in chapter summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tarzan AU

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Консультация](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385908) by [Black_Mamba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Mamba/pseuds/Black_Mamba)
  * Translation into Italiano available: [Contested](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2334773) by [thesterekproject](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesterekproject/pseuds/thesterekproject)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Серафим](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162270) by [hespify](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hespify/pseuds/hespify)



[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring piece of art by Hatteress.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/36507687414/jerakeenc-devildoll-hatteress-so)

On Stiles’ sixteenth birthday, his dad brought home a boyfriend for him.

He didn’t actually mean to, and Derek wouldn’t actually be Stiles’ boyfriend for a while, but…eh. Semantics.

~*~

Dad was late getting home from work, which wasn’t all that uncommon, but was kind of aggravating on special occasions, and they had plans to go out for pizza and to see a movie and it was his birthday and Stiles was _starving_. So when he finally heard the garage door go up, he slapped his computer shut and scrambled to get his shoes on ASAP.

"Stiles? Come down here, please!" Dad called, when Stiles was already halfway down the stairs, and halfway into his jacket.

"Oh, sure, now you’re in a hurry when I’m the one who’s been wait—whoa!" Stiles said as he skidded around the corner and saw his dad standing in the kitchen next to a strange guy hunching uncomfortably in what looked like clothes consisting entirely of things borrowed from the guys down at the station. The guy’s black hair was long and tangled and wild, and the lower half of his face was hidden by a thick layer of scruffy facial hair. But between those two things was a pair of intense green eyes, and they locked on Stiles instantly.

"Wow, who’s the wolfman?" Stiles asked, and the guy snarled at him—snarled!—and took a step back, eyes darting toward the door, like maybe he was going to go running off into the woods.

"Stiles!" Dad chided, and grabbed the guy by the elbow, which seemed like a risky proposition, but Dad didn’t look worried. “Bad choice of words," he said to Stiles, and then muttered, “You’ll get used to it," to the hairy guy.

"Sorry," Stiles said automatically, and then waved his hands around in the direction of the hairy guy and gave his dad a _Well?_ look.

"Stiles, this is Derek Hale," Dad said.

"Wow, I thought you were dead!" Stiles blurted, and the guy—Derek—snarled _again_. Stiles was now two for two in accidental insults. “I mean. We all thought you were dead." Which…wasn’t much better, if the look on Dad’s face was anything to go by, but Stiles was only being truthful.

Derek Hale had been presumed killed in the house fire that had wiped out his entire family, over ten years ago now. It had been a horrible tragedy, and school let out early so everyone could go to the mass funeral, and everyone had wondered for years what had become of little Derek Hale, because they never found his body. It was a Beacon Hills legend. So why was he standing in the Stilinski kitchen looking like he just walked out of one of those survivalist reality shows?

"But you’re obviously not dead," Stiles concluded, and gave Derek a double thumbs up for this accomplishment.

"He’s been hiding," Dad said, in a tone that implied Stiles would get more details later, if Dad didn’t kill him first. “He’s going to be staying with us while we figure out if he has any relatives somewhere."

"Great!" Stiles said, with an enthusiasm he didn’t actually feel. Derek was still staring at him, maybe like he was interested in talking to him, maybe like he was interested in eating him. Thank God Stiles’ room had a lock on the door. “So!" he said to Derek. “You like pizza?"

~*~

Derek did, in fact, like pizza. He also seemed to really like Stiles, despite their rocky start. He followed him around the house most of the evening, and hovered suspiciously at his shoulder while Stiles paid the terrified delivery guy for the pizza, since going out was obviously not in the cards. After dinner, when Dad put in a movie and immediately went to sleep in his recliner, Derek followed Stiles up to his room and spent some time walking around in it and looking curiously at everything while Stiles and Scott had what was going to go down in history as the most mind-blowing Skype chat ever. It wasn’t how his birthday was supposed to go, but it was pretty damn awesome anyway.

Their number one priority the next morning was getting Derek some clothes of his own, because all his borrowed stuff was either too big or too small or too polyester. They made a trip to Target, which Derek spent following Stiles at what was most definitely a distance that violated all the personal bubble rules, but Derek didn’t really seem to have a personal bubble at all when it came to Stiles, so it wasn’t worth protesting. He was surprisingly picky for a guy who had spent the last ten years naked in the woods, and also very particular about color palettes. It took way longer than Stiles had thought it would to find the guy a small stack of clothing, even though it was all just jeans and T-shirts.

A few more days went by and Dad had no luck at all finding any Hales anywhere, or at least any willing to claim Derek as a relative, and he didn’t want Derek left alone while he was at work. Since it was summer vacation, Stiles was elected babysitter.

Derek sticking to him like glue meant spending a lot of time in the house, because he seemed to get—understandably—overwhelmed and stressed if he was exposed to the chaos of civilization for extended periods of time. But overall, Stiles thought, he was adapting pretty well. He didn’t do weird stuff like pee in the yard, or try to eat raw meat. In a lot of ways he was a normal teenager who liked watching movies and eating too many donuts.

He had some peculiar, wolf-like habits, like patrolling the perimeter of the property when they were outside, and sniffing things—including Stiles—more than was probably normal, and his sense of hearing also seemed unnaturally acute. But hey, everyone had their peculiarities, right? Stiles liked to eat grape jelly on his scrambled eggs. Derek had lived with a pack of wolves for years, so it wasn’t _that_ weird that he could mimic a growl so perfectly.

Stiles decided to kill some time by bringing him up to speed on everything that had happened in the ten years he’d been living in a hole in the ground. He had thought it would be easy—hello, Wikipedia!—until it had become apparent that Derek didn’t really remember how to read. He’d learned to read at an early grade school level before he’d disappeared into the woods, obviously, but hadn’t used those skills in a decade. He obviously needed a refresher.

Because he loved projects, Stiles printed some exercises off the Internet, and then when those proved a breeze for Derek, he dug out some of his favorite childhood books, like _James and Giant Peach_ , and they started working their way through them a chapter at a time. Derek was smart, and learned quickly. He’d be reading Tolkien by the end of the month if Stiles had anything to say about it.

A great deal of the time, though, Stiles just did stuff around the house with Derek looming nearby like a hairy shadow. Right now he was standing in the bathroom doorway watching Stiles give his hair a quick trim with the clippers. He didn’t seem to like the noise, but it wasn’t making him go away.

"Can you do that to me?" he asked when Stiles was done, shocking the hell out of him, and not just because Derek’s voice was lighter and less terrifying than Stiles expected it to be. He spoke so little Stiles was always surprised by it all over again every time.

"Yes!" Stiles said immediately, because Derek’s tumbleweed of hair was a tragedy, and also didn’t smell all that great. He would gladly get up close and personal with it if it meant getting rid of it forever. He motioned Derek out of the way so he could dart across the hall and grab his desk chair before Derek changed his mind.

Derek obediently sat down on the chair and tugged his shirt over his head as instructed and Stiles felt his eyes bug out like a cartoon character. Apparently living in the woods made a guy really, really fit. Like _fitness magazine model_ fit.

Stiles spent a good hour doggedly hacking away at Derek’s hair. It was so twisted and tangled that the only way to get it off was to go at it near his scalp with a pair of scissors. It came off in big chunks, and at least one of them had a twig in it. Derek sat patiently through the process, watching Stiles in the mirror.

"I remember you," Derek said suddenly, when Stiles was making a pass with the clippers, trying to even things out as best he could.

"I hope so," Stiles said, trying to play it cool and not make a big deal out of the fact that Derek had spoken and it wasn’t a direct request he had to voice in order to meet an immediate need. He didn’t want to freak him out and send him back to silence. “We haven’t been more than twenty feet apart in days."

Derek shot him a disgusted look. Stiles wasn’t sure if the speed with which he’d picked up that particular habit was hilarious or aggravating. “No, I mean I remember you from…before."

Before the fire, he meant. Before his family died.

"Do you? We were just kids." Stiles had been in kindergarten, Derek only a grade or two ahead of him. They had gone to the same school—all the Hale kids had gone to that school, six of them, Derek the last as the baby of the group—but hadn’t been friends.

Stiles didn’t remember much at all from that time, except that his mother sent him off to school one day with a kiss on the forehead, and when he came home later his dad was in the house alone and he never saw his mother alive again. That had kinda obliterated everything else around that time.

He stepped around behind Derek and gently pushed on his head until he tipped his chin down so Stiles could get at the back of his neck.

"You had a Buzz Lightyear lunchbox," Derek said, as Stiles went to work cleaning up the hairline, and Stiles lifted the clippers away just in time to avoid shaving a furrow into the hair on the back of Derek’s head. He hadn’t expected that at all.

"Whoa," Stiles said. “I did. You remember that?"

"Yes," Derek said, and he sounded almost shy about it.

"I loved that lunchbox," Stiles said. He’d gone through a phase where he would only eat ham sandwiches with pickles for lunch, which had necessitated carrying his own to school every day. He still had the lunchbox, and it still smelled faintly like pickles.

Derek didn’t seem to want to share anything else, so Stiles focused on finishing up the hair—it was a pretty drastic change, but definitely an improvement. He looked less like a maniac already. A little clean up around the ears and he’d be done, except it was hard to tell where Derek’s hair ended and his beard began.

"How would you feel about doing your face, too?" Stiles asked. “I could buzz off most of it, and then you can shave the rest."

Derek looked at Stiles’ face, eyes obviously tracing his jawline, his chin, lingering on his upper lip, and then looked at himself in the mirror, like he was trying to imagine his own face as bare as Stiles’. Which wasn’t going to be possible, because Stiles only shaved like twice a week, whereas Derek was probably the kind of guy who had stubble three minutes after he put the razor down.

"Okay," Derek said, and tilted his face up, trusting, as Stiles turned the clippers on again.

Stiles ended up doing the shaving bit, too, slathering Derek’s face with foam and running the razor over what was left behind by the clippers. It was weirdly intimate, and made even weirder by the way Derek closed his eyes and sort of leaned into Stiles, nostrils flaring now and then, like he was enjoying it on a level that wasn’t strictly one dude helping another dude with his personal grooming. But Derek probably hadn’t been touched by another human being in ten years, Stiles reminded himself, aside from the doctor who had examined him right after he’d been found. Let him enjoy it.

The final step was cleaning the last of the shaving cream off with a warm washcloth, and Derek seemed to _really_ like that part. He rubbed into the touch like a cat as Stiles slowly unearthed his attractively defined jawline. His eyes looked even more striking now, without all the hair to detract from them, and his cheekbones were a thing of beauty.

"Holy shit!" Stiles said, when Derek was staring at himself in the mirror, short-haired and clean shaven and a little freaked out.

Derek Hale was fucking hot.

~*~

"Dude, I don’t think he wants me here," Scott said nervously, very carefully not making eye contact with Derek, who was hunkered down in the corner next to Stiles’ dresser and glaring balefully at Scott. Nothing made Derek revert to wolfy behavior faster than a stranger in the house, and he seemed particularly offended that Scott was in Stiles’ room. Every time he made any sudden movement, Derek would twitch, and glare harder, and he was probably only refraining from actually growling because Stiles had forbidden it. He was making it nearly impossible to play _Call of Duty_.

"Please don’t leave!" Stiles begged, shameless in his desperation. He’d been trapped in the house with Derek for three days now, because Derek’s discovery had been all over the news, even going national—an orphan raised by wolves was a spectacular story—and they couldn’t go anywhere right now without being followed by someone with a camera. Even their daily field trip, which both of them looked forward to every day even if it was just to Starbucks or the grocery store, was impossible right now.

At first it’d been kind of cool, having the freaky, feral guy staying at his house, and Stiles had suddenly become very popular as word had spread and everyone wanted to come over and see the famous Derek Hale, who had been living in the Beacon Hills Preserve all this time. Except, well, it was kind of shitty that all of a sudden people who had been only vague acquaintances or even outright enemies suddenly were being all friendly, and it was even shittier to trot Derek out like some circus act, and so the only person Stiles let into the house was Scott. And Scott was definitely well and truly over the novelty of Derek.

He stayed another hour, but Stiles got the feeling it was just out of politeness, and when he left Derek trailed down the stairs after them, like he was making sure Scott was really leaving. He had a definite victorious look of “And stay out!" on his face as the front door closed behind Scott.

Stiles turned and pointed a finger at him. “Just for that: math lesson." Derek’s look of triumph deflated as his shoulders fell and he turned and trudged into the kitchen like a man going to the gallows.

~*~

Stiles was just drifting off to sleep when he heard the creak of the guest room door—Derek’s room—opening, and then the soft padding sound of Derek’s bare feet in the hallway. He expected him pass by on his way to the bathroom, but instead what Stiles heard next was a light tapping on his door.

"Come in," he mumbled, rolling enough to look as Derek opened the door. He took one step into Stiles’ room and then stopped, hand still on the doorknob. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with Stormtroopers on them. He’d picked them out himself, and Stiles had beamed with pride.

"What’s up, buddy?" He knew Derek had nightmares sometimes, and didn’t always sleep much, but he’d never come to Stiles’ room in the night before.

"Can I sleep in here?" Derek asked.

"Sure," Stiles said, and he was just about to tell him to just clear a spot anywhere on the floor when Derek flopped down on the bed and snugged up behind Stiles. “Oh, you meant…" Stiles said, trying not to shiver as Derek’s hot breath fanned over his neck.

So this was new, but actually not all that surprising. Derek had been getting a little more touchy-feely with Stiles, ever since the shaving thing, and Stiles hadn’t exactly discouraged it, because it seemed to make him happy. Sometimes you just had to roll with things, and Derek’s psyche was probably already messed up enough without Stiles getting all uncomfortable about cuddling. It felt kind of nice, anyway.

He shifted a little, getting comfortable, and felt Derek move as well, settling his head on Stiles’ pillow.

"You gave me a piece of candy," Derek said, when they were finally still, like he was sharing a secret.

"What?" Stiles asked, already starting to drift. Candy?

"When we were kids. You gave me a piece of candy. It was your last piece."

Stiles’ eyes popped open. “I remember that," he said. He hadn’t thought about it in years, but he remembered it now.

He’d gotten a package of Starburst from his grandmother and smuggled them to school in his lunchbox, in flagrant violation of his mother’s candy policy. He’d opened them on the playground at recess, and had immediately started handing them out, because every time Stiles got ahold of something—stickers, candy, Pokemon cards—he could never resist the urge to share it. When the package was all but gone, just one left in the palm of his hand—strawberry, his favorite—there was one kid still standing hopefully in front of him. Derek Hale.

Stiles had known who he was, but they’d never spoken to each other. Derek and his siblings were always a tight-knit group, and Derek himself was kind of quiet and weird, whereas Stiles was loud and weird. Stiles didn’t have it in him to turn him away the only kid not to get a piece of candy.

"Here," Stiles had said, and handed it to him. After hesitating for a second, Derek had plucked it from his hand.

"Wait," he’d said, as Stiles had turned to walk away.

He’d unwrapped it, slowly and precisely, and then bitten it in half and handed one piece back to Stiles. Because Stiles was six years old and a heathen, he hadn’t even cared that some strange kid he didn’t know had probably gotten his cooties all over it. He’d popped it in his mouth and then Derek had said, “You wanna play swings?" and they’d spent the rest of recess gliding back and forth past each other in companionable silence.

The fire was only a few days later. The Hale family was dead, all of them burned up in their house, and the school had been full of crying people, kids and adults both, and Stiles never saw Derek again.

Two weeks later, Stiles mom died.

"Yeah, I did," Stiles said to Derek. “You shared it with me. That was really nice of you."

Derek made a small, pleased sound, like it meant a lot to him that Stiles hadn’t forgotten it. “For a long time," he said, “that was the last good thing I could remember happening to me."

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. He felt Derek’s hand slowly, tentatively creep across his ribs, slip down over his stomach until it was curled around him, tugging him closer, fitting him into the warm, solid curve of his body. And maybe this was weird, and maybe it was wrong to let this happen, but all Stiles could see was that little boy on the playground, the happy look on his face when Stiles handed him a piece of candy, neither of them knowing that they were both days away from losing so much. So he let his hand cover Derek’s, and then he let Derek twine their fingers together, and then he let himself fall asleep.


	2. The Seraphim AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is a werewolf, Stiles is an angel. Contains canon-typical violence and references to suicidal ideation.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring piece of art by Nina.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/37500924354/nininghasfeelings-au-stiles-is-the-morally)

~*~

Derek smelled him before he saw him, the stench of dry bones and old leather thick in the air. This time, all he felt was relief. The rattle in Derek’s ruined throat, the blood running into his lungs—he knew it was all but over now, thank God. Derek was an omega, no match for a whole pack; it hadn’t even been worth fighting back when they cornered him.

"You can call me Gerard. We don’t keep to the old traditions these days," Death had said the first time they’d met, as Derek stood next to the stinking, smoking ruins of everything he loved. “I’ll be back for you. Sooner than you think, but not as soon as you’ll wish." He’d looked like someone’s grandfather, but his voice had made the animal in Derek want to slink away and hide.

For a moment Derek had nearly asked him to take him then, because it seemed easier than facing an unknown number of days remembering what he’d done. But Laura had been there, tears streaming down her soot-streaked face, hand squeezing his so hard he thought the bones might snap. She would be devastated, and utterly alone. And she didn’t know what he’d done.

By the time Derek had made up his mind not to say anything, the old man had disappeared anyway, and for years Derek had wondered if he’d imagined it. But he hadn’t. Six years later, Death had come back, as promised, but he hadn’t been seeking Derek, not yet. He’d come for Laura.

"Well, here we are again, Derek," Gerard said to him now, as he stepped into the clearing. His smile was nasty—crooked teeth and thin lips, skin like parchment paper stretching over the bones of his face. “It’s a real disappointment about your throat, I have to admit. I was looking forward to hearing you thank me for finally putting you out of your misery."

It was a cool spring night, the smell of green things and newborn animals in the woods around them, the sky twinkling with stars. A good day to die. Derek pulled his claws out of the moist earth under him and let his fangs slip away. He wouldn’t need them anymore.

"It’s been over a year, hasn’t it? Since the last time we saw each other." Gerard squatted next to Derek and pressed his busted shoulder into the wet grass with a bony claw of a hand, sending a flare of pain through Derek’s left side. He would have screamed, but all that came out of the raw mess where his throat had been was a wet gurgle. “The lake. I thought you were mine for sure," Gerard said, mouth twitching in a rueful smile. “So close."

Derek had been up in the mountains that time, chased out onto an ice-covered lake by a truck full of hunters, and they’d laughed when he’d fallen through, chucked empty beer bottles at him as he tried and failed to pull himself out. Exhausted and with two arrows sticking out of him, he’d finally gone under. He’d spent several minutes clawing frantically at the underside of the ice, unable find his way back to the hole he’d come through, too weak to punch a new one. Eventually, he’d wondered why he was even trying.

He’d puked his way back to consciousness on the icy shoreline, and screamed his rage at an uncaring forest. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten out of the lake, because he remembered the four times before that when he’d walked right up to the line and not been pulled over it; he knew who had saved him. But that was the first time being saved had felt like a missed opportunity. Things had been different since then. It had been a long year.

He could feel the life leeching out of him now, everything going gray and blurry as he started to fade, the creeping chill steadily spreading down his body from where Gerard was touching him, and all he could think was, _Finally. Finally._ He closed his eyes, and waited.

And then Derek felt the rush of cool air on his face, and smelled the unmistakable crystalline scent of _him_ , like the coldest, brightest winter night, when the sky had a million stars in it and a howl would travel for miles through crisp, clean air. Like the pure, clear water that filled the mountain streams and burned like fire going down a parched throat. Like the moon at its fullest and strongest, white and flawless and beautiful.

And just like the moon, he was radiant and cold and forever out of reach. And just like the moon, he was—for Derek—forever inescapable.

"You can’t have him," Stiles said, and Derek heard him land lightly next to them, heard the soft rustle of his wings. When Derek opened his eyes, the stars were invisible, their brightness muted out by the strange, diffused light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere when Stiles was present.

He was a white marble carving of powerful wings, chiseled torso and arms, his hands clean and spare, the curve of his mouth and the ridges of his cheekbones like something sculpted with an eye to perfection, his eyes sparking golden. From the waist up, he didn’t look real. From the waist down, he looked like a teenager, black pants hanging too low on his hips, and tennis shoes, and one red shoelace trailing on the ground.

"Ah, but you’re too late," Gerard laughed, and if Derek had been able to talk, he would have begged Stiles to let him go this time, to just let Death have him. He never would have begged Gerard, but he would beg Stiles. “He’s nearly mine already."

Stiles lowered himself next to Derek, wings lifting and spreading as he balanced on the balls of his feet, and took Derek’s hand in his. “There’s still some light in him," Stiles said softly, smiling down at him, and then he bent his head and kissed Derek’s mouth, a gentle brush with his lips that sent syrupy warmth rolling through Derek’s whole body, chasing away the paralyzing cold. Derek wanted to claw at his own throat as it began to knit itself back together.

Gerard snatched his hand away, hissing. He wiped his hand on his pants and spat on the ground, as if something tasted bad in his mouth. “Does your father know his favorite son keeps an unclean thing for a pet?"

"Yes," Stiles said simply, and it had to be true, because Derek knew seraphim couldn’t lie. There was blood on Stiles’ mouth from kissing Derek.

"He’s nothing," Gerard sneered as he stood up, nudging Derek’s hip with his foot. “He’s insignificant."

"If that’s true, why do you want him so bad?" Stiles asked, and his wings quivered as he looked up at Gerard. His eyes flashed white, and Gerard scowled at him before he vanished.

Derek worked his healing throat, choking on thick blood before Stiles turned his head for him so he could spit it into the grass. Pins and needles raced through his shoulder as it healed, the bones snapping back into place with a sickening jolt. He rolled to his hands and knees, coughing more blood. Stiles’ hand rubbed up and down his back as he felt the gashes on his chest and arms close up, like a zipper being zipped, and shuddered.

"You should have let me go," he said as he stumbled to his feet. His voice was unrecognizable. “I told you last time—"

"I told you last time that you’re needed here. And when your time does come, I’ll take you, not Gerard."

"I don’t care who does it," Derek said. He just wanted it to be soon. “I don’t fucking—" between one word and the next they were standing next to Derek’s car, miles away from where Gerard had found him "—care. And I _hate it_ when you do that," Derek snarled, slumping back against the fender.

Stiles handed Derek his keys, and then cupped his hand around the back of Derek’s neck and squeezed. Derek couldn’t help it—he swayed toward him, still angry and miserable, but unable to resist the touch.

"You would care, if you knew what comes after this for you," Stiles said, before he let go. He spread his wings and rose into the air, Derek’s blood still on his mouth, and then he was gone.


	3. The Three Times Is a Pattern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would actually enjoy a story where Sheriff “accidentally" keeps shooting Derek. And it obviously must be called “Three Times Is a Pattern." Contains canon-typical violence.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring gif set by simplystiles.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/42095345641/jerakeenc-devildoll-teen-wolf-au-in-which)

~*~

"Not again," Stiles groaned, when he got out of the Jeep. He didn’t even sound worried or alarmed this time, just annoyed.

"I’m fine," Derek wheezed, from where he was curled up on the ground, but Stiles stepped right over him, focus squarely on his dad; his face was screwed up in a scowl.

"It was an accident," the sheriff said. He was leaning casually against the cruiser’s fender, arms crossed over his chest. “He ran in front of my gun."

"That’s what you said the last time!" Stiles said, incredulous. “I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose."

“ _Starting?_ " Derek gritted out. One of the bullets had lodged up against a rib and it grated unpleasantly every time he took a breath.

"Stiles, you know I wouldn’t shoot him on purpose," Stiles’ dad said, sounding calm and reasonable, placating. The voice cops used when they were trying to diffuse a tense situation. Derek was weirdly touched by that, until he went on, “Every time I discharge my service weapon I have to fill out a mountain of paperwork." He gestured at Derek, still gasping in pain next to a puddle. “This is goddamn inconvenient, is what it is."

"I think I need Deaton," Derek said weakly, flopping over onto his back. His clothes felt soaked with sweat, but maybe he’d rolled in the puddle.

"Great! Now I have to take him to the vet!" Stiles yelled.


	4. The Couch Sex Ficlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stiles’ mouth is open—it’s always open, like he doesn’t know what that does to Derek—tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip, puffy where Derek bit it a little without meaning to." Contains orgasm denial.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring gif by lonewolfed.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/45397004726/devildoll-marielikestodraw-no-and-then-i)

~*~

When Stiles leans over and unbuckles Derek’s belt, opens his jeans while he presses his tender mouth against Derek’s neck, Derek’s already half hard and thinking, _Finally._

The movie’s paused, pizza cold on the coffee table, one of the couch cushions already askew. Derek’s heart feels huge, pulsing, like it’s blocking all the words he wants to force up through his throat, and maybe that’s just as well. Stiles probably doesn’t want to hear them anyway. And he can’t talk with Stiles kissing him, thumb twitching Derek’s jaw open so he can get inside.

Derek’s cupping his hands around Stiles’ ribs, so gentle and careful, when Stiles squirms away, shoving Derek’s legs apart so he can slither down between them, slotting his elbows against Derek’s knees as his hands reach into Derek’s clothes, where he’s wet and throbbing.

Stiles’ mouth is open—it’s always open, like he doesn’t know what that does to Derek—tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip, puffy where Derek bit it a little without meaning to. Derek wants to look away because he’s not sure he can—he needs to look away, but he doesn’t, as Stiles slides his fist smoothly down Derek’s cock and opens his mouth a little more and lowers his head. He just pauses there for several long seconds, breath hot and damp and teasing, and it makes Derek’s hips twitch up, wanting, and then Stiles’ tongue darts out and he lightly licks the head of Derek’s cock, already slick.

Derek hisses at the contact, and Stiles licks him again, just as softly, just as fleeting, and then again. The tip of his tongue curls sweetly against the underside of the head and Derek groans like he’s dying, because he is, one shivery inch at a time. Stiles licks and licks, his tongue warm and slippery and so good, and he makes Derek hold himself up, hold his cock away from his body, but he puts his hand over Derek’s—wraps his long fingers all the way around—so Derek can’t move his fist up and down, can’t jerk off into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles just licks him, again and again, just the head, until Derek’s so sensitive he wants to cry.

It’s not enough to make him come, but enough to make his legs shift restlessly, banging into Stiles’ ribs. It’s enough to leave him trembling on the edge for as along as Stiles wants to keep him there. Derek fists his other hand in the back of Stiles’ shirt, not trying to control him, he never would do that, but just to hang on. The noises he makes are embarrassing, high-pitched little things, pleading moans, and he doesn’t care. He needs it to stop, and he needs it to keep going, and he’s not sure which to ask for, so it’s almost a relief when Stiles does stop—at least he doesn’t have to decide.

Stiles crawls up into Derek’s lap, carefully settling far back enough to not rub against Derek’s cock, and unbuttons his own pants. “Pull your shirt up," he says hoarsely, eyeing Derek’s stomach with an appreciative mumble when Derek complies, running his knuckles up and down the middle of Derek’s abdomen.

"Hands on me. Put your hands on me," Stiles says, so Derek does. He shoves his hands into Stiles’ open pants and presses his thumbs against his hip bones, skin he’s never touched before. Stiles tips his head back and says, “Yeah," and starts to jerk himself off, his other hand sealed flat against Derek’s stomach.

Derek can’t decide what to look at: Stiles’ hand spread wide on his stomach, fingertips digging in a little now; or Stiles’ mouth, soft and open and wet and _moaning_ ; or Stiles’ other hand, sliding smoothly up and down his dick, making his hips jerk in Derek’s grip.

"I’m close," Stiles says, and he looks down at Derek, at his wet cock and his tensed stomach, then up at his face, at his mouth, before he takes his hand off Derek’s stomach and hooks two fingers in Derek’s mouth, presses lightly against his tongue. Derek sucks on them, hands tightening on Stiles’ hips, dick jumping against his own belly. “Look at you," Stiles says, breathy. “You’d suck me so good, wouldn’t you?" and Derek whines around Stiles’ fingers and sucks harder, because he would, he wants to. He’s never done it, but he wants to do it to Stiles.

Stiles comes with a stuttered gasp, tipping forward to shoot all over Derek’s stomach, and his fingers slip from Derek’s mouth as he slumps down to rest his forehead on Derek’s shoulder, panting breath heating Derek’s skin through his shirt. As he recovers, he teasingly slides his long fingers over Derek’s belly, rubbing the mess he made into Derek’s skin, and Derek’s hips try to come up off the couch with a tight little snap. So close, his hand is so close, but Stiles ignores Derek’s soft pleas. He only touches him to carefully tuck him away, close his jeans back up so he can pull him back down onto the couch and restart the movie.

Derek lays half on Stiles and tries to watch the movie, but he’s jittery and unsatisfied, hips shifting restlessly against Stiles’ thigh as Stiles rubs his hand over the top of Derek’s head, down his back between his shoulder blades, where his shirt is damp, then up again. When he can, Derek catches his Stiles’ fingers in his teeth and takes them into his mouth, works his tongue against them. Stiles lets him do it for a minute or two, laughing softly, before he takes them away again.

When the movie’s over, Stiles sends Derek home with the rest of the pizza. Derek drives the speed limit the whole way—he knows for a fact the sheriff is out tonight—the smell of Stiles all over him, filling the car, making him shiver in his sweaty clothes.

When he gets home he takes his time, hangs his keys on the little hook by the door, puts the pizza in the fridge, strips all his clothes off before getting into bed. His still hard, aching now, the head of his cock dark red and painfully tight. He works himself slowly, so slowly, picturing Stiles’ tongue on him, Stiles’ hands on him, Stiles’ hands on himself. When he gets close—too soon, but he’s too worked up, too frustrated—he licks two fingers and runs them over his stomach and then brings them to his mouth. The taste of Stiles is sharp and fresh again, newly wet, and he sucks and sucks and strokes himself and comes moaning around his own fingers, eyes squeezed shut. He rubs it into his skin where it already smells of Stiles, and turns onto his side and falls asleep, and doesn’t dream.


	5. The What If Stiles Is a Ghost AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Stiles is a ghost. Contains past character death.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring edit by oakseer.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/45907105127/what-if-derek-is-four-years-old-when-he-meets)

~*~

What if Derek is four years old when he meets Stiles, who is six and mischievous and knows all the best places to find bird nests and salamanders. And what if Stiles smells funny, like sweet dust, and wears funny clothes like the ones in the oldest pictures in Derek’s mother’s photo album, the ones that are all in shades of brown and no one is smiling. What if Stiles _looks_ funny, too. Pale and kind of see-through.

What if Stiles is a ghost.

What if no one else can see Stiles, has _ever_ been able to see Stiles—not even his own family could see him after he died. No one could hear him or feel when he tried to touch them, and it scared him, being dead, because he was so alone, even when the rest of his family was right there, even when he sat in his empty chair at the dinner table and watched them eat. What if sometimes he crept up to his room at night and lay on his old bed and pretended he wasn’t dead. And what if eventually his family moved away and he couldn’t follow, couldn’t take even one step off the property. What if they just left him behind, all alone in the house, because they didn’t know he was still there, and they took his bed, too.

And what if when the Hale family moved in they painted a symbol above the doors, just a simple little protection, and now Stiles can’t go in the house at all.

What if Derek tells Stiles he’s a werewolf, even though he’s not supposed to tell anyone that unless his parents say it’s okay, but he likes knowing Stiles’ secret and wants to give him one in return. And who is Stiles going to tell, anyway? No one but Derek can see him.

What if Stiles asks Derek lots of questions about being a werewolf. Like, “What color is your fur?" and “Do you eat raw meat?" and Derek doesn’t know the answer to some of the questions, but he likes that Stiles is interested. And what if Derek asks Stiles lots of questions about being a ghost. Like, “How come you can sit on a rock but you can’t pick a flower?" and “Do you sleep?" and, just like Derek, Stiles doesn’t know all the answers either.

What if Derek is small and quiet, and the Hales live way out on the edge of town, and Laura is at school all day, so Derek and Stiles become friends. And what if they play werewolves a lot, because Stiles is endlessly fascinated by it, so they race through the woods, snarling and clawing at each other with human teeth and hands. Stiles is good at acting like a werewolf, and Derek doesn’t have his fangs yet, so they’re both just pretending anyway. And Derek doesn’t have to worry about Stiles getting hurt or keeping up with him, because Stiles can fall out of a tree and get right back up, and flit from place to place in the blink of an eye. After a time, he gets pretty good at howling, too.

And what if Stiles loves Derek’s toys, is dazzled by their complexity and detail, so Derek takes them outside so they can play with them together. Stiles particularly loves Derek’s Star Wars action figures, most of which are hand-me-downs from a cousin, because Derek isn’t even allowed to watch the movies yet. Derek knows the gist of the story, enough to explain it to Stiles, and they play for hours, Derek moving Stiles’ guys around per his instructions because Stiles’ fingers go right through them. One day Derek brings some of Laura’s model horses out, and Stiles gets really excited, and he puts Darth Vader on a fancy black one and the game turns into space cowboys.

What if sometimes Derek wants to jump on the trampoline in the back yard, and Stiles watches Derek do backflips and somersaults in the air, hovering in place near the edge, his feet disappearing and reappearing as the trampoline bed moves up and down beneath Derek’s weight. What if sometimes they just sit on their favorite log and talk about stuff, like what the scariest animal is, and Stiles sits right next to Derek, because he likes to be close, and all it feels like to Derek is cool air on his skin, so he doesn’t mind. And Stiles says, “You’re my best friend," and Derek says, “You’re mine, too."

And what if Stiles sometimes get frustrated and sad because he can’t touch anything, including Derek, and then one day he says, “I want to try," and Derek lets him practice a little every day. He lets Stiles try to touch him, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip caught in his teeth, but his fingers keep falling right through Derek’s arm, a chill that makes him shiver. And then one day Stiles won’t give up and he keeps trying, even when he starts to get all weird and shimmery, and then he disappears _**BLIP!**_ like a popped soap bubble and Derek panics. Stiles doesn’t come back for days, and Derek is convinced he’s managed to kill himself, even though he’s already dead.

And what if it’s weeks before Derek will let him try again, no matter how much Stiles begs, and finally Derek relents, because he hates it when Stiles pouts. And this time Stiles doesn’t squeeze his eyes shut—he looks at Derek the whole time, mouth falling open in wonderment as he touches Derek for the first time ever, just a fingertip, light as a butterfly against the palm of Derek’s outstretched hand.

And what if the next day Stiles says, “I’m going away soon," and Derek is inconsolable. He doesn’t want Stiles to leave, but Stiles is obviously excited by the idea of it, and Derek doesn’t like it that Stiles is so happy to be going away, and they fight. What if Stiles says, “I’m coming back, and I’ll be a real boy again. Just like you."

"Can we still be friends?" Derek asks, and Stiles hesitates.

"I don’t know if I’ll remember you," Stiles says. “I don’t think it works like that."

“ _I’ll_ remember _you_ ," Derek promises, and he feels an overwhelming urgency, like he has to make Stiles understand that he’ll _always_ remember. “When you come back, I’ll remind you you’re my best friend."

And what if Derek teaches Stiles what a pinky swear is, even if Stiles still can’t actually hook his finger over Derek’s, and they promise to be best friends forever, which only makes things a little better, but there’s nothing else to be done. Derek just has to wait for Stiles to come back, and he promises Stiles he will.

And what if one day, Stiles is gone, just like he said.

What if Derek watches for Stiles, all the time, for days and weeks and months, in the woods, at the playground his mother takes him to sometimes, everywhere he goes with his family, even at the car wash. But he never sees Stiles anywhere, and after a while he stops looking all the time. He gets older and goes to school and makes other friends, and he grows up, like real boys do. And he meets Kate Argent.

And what if Derek comes back to Beacon Hills and Laura is dead and Peter might as well be, and that’s it: he’s all alone. What if he passes by the pond out on the edge of the Hale property one day, the rotting log they were sitting on the only time Stiles touched him, and he thinks about Stiles for the first time in years, and he misses him like he’s five years old again. If he still had Stiles, at least he’d have _someone_. Stiles had promised him he would come back, and because Derek had been five years old and foolish, he’d believed him. It had probably just been Stiles’ time to move on, and he didn’t know it. Neither of them had really understood anything about being a ghost.

But what if some random kid gets bit by an alpha in the woods and that kid turns out to be Scott McCall, who is a project and a half, but Derek doesn’t want to give up on him, so he keeps coming around, keeps trying to talk to him. And what if Scott McCall’s best friend is named…Stiles.

And what if Derek sits in Stiles’ Jeep with him for _hours_ with a bullet wound in his arm that’s slowly killing him, and it only takes a few minutes of those hours for him to realize this really is _his_ Stiles, or at least how Stiles would have turned out if he’d lived to be sixteen years old and been born a century later. And what if the whole time they sit there Derek is screaming inside because Stiles doesn’t know he’s some kind of reincarnated spirit or something, and he doesn’t remember his time with Derek at all. He doesn’t remember being a ghost, he doesn’t remember catching butterflies with Derek, or that he wanted to put his hand on Derek so badly he burned himself out like a light bulb and couldn’t make himself visible again for days. Derek wants to ask him—Derek wants to _tell_ him, he wants to say, “You were my best friend and I was so angry you went away, and I needed you. I’ve needed you for a long time."

What if Derek doesn’t say anything at all, even though he made a promise almost twenty years ago, because this isn’t how he ever pictured it. He thought when they found each other again there would be a Derek-shaped hole in Stiles’ life, just like there’s a Stiles-shaped one in Derek’s. He didn’t think he’d have to fight to make a place for himself, and no crazy story about his childhood ghost friend is going to convince Stiles that Derek is anything more than a nuisance. Derek’s life is nothing but holes now, really, and Stiles’ mother is gone forever, but he has his dad, and he has Scott, who can’t stand Derek. Stiles already has a best friend.

And what if Stiles doesn’t know that when he told Derek he was going away Derek got mad at him, so mad, and threw his Nerf football at his head and of course it went right through Stiles and landed in the pond. He doesn’t know that when Derek waded in to get it Stiles collapsed into hysterics, and Derek, still angry, had been meanly pleased to hear him beg Derek not to go in, to hear that Stiles was hurting just like Derek was right then. Derek hadn’t even known ghosts could cry, but there were tears on Stiles’ washed-out cheeks, dripping down onto his old timey shirt.

"I’m fine," Derek sneered, when he came squelching out of the water, soggy football in his hands. “Stop being such a baby."

"I’m not a baby. I’m older than you," Stiles said, but his voice was tiny, and he couldn’t stop hiccuping sobs into his sleeve.

What if Stiles doesn’t know any of this. What if he doesn’t know that a hundred years ago he drowned in a pond on what’s now the Hale property because he wasn’t supposed to go near it, but he did anyway, because he wanted to catch some tadpoles. What if he doesn’t know that he reached too far, stretched his trembling net out just a bit too much, and when he fell in there was no one there to save him, no one to pull him up off the bottom and carry him to safety.

What if Stiles doesn’t know any of this, during those two hours he spends in the pool, holding Derek’s head above the water. And what if Derek does.


	6. The Foster Home AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Laura after the fire.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring images by ihateyoutylerhoechlin.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/48398062377/the-sheriffs-phone-rings-as-they-pull-up-to-the)

~*~

The sheriff’s phone rings as they pull up to the curb in front of the house. He glances at it and says, “Sorry, have to take this." Then, into the phone, “Hey, kiddo. You’re supposed to be in bed."

Derek can hear an excited voice on the other end, a young voice, asking when are you coming home, and can I stay up until you do? “Not a chance," the sheriff says, and the protests are immediate. “Bed, Stiles. Right now. And no video games. Sleep." He cuts off any further protests by hanging up.

"Sorry about that. My kid," he says, stashing the phone back in his shirt pocket, and then pauses awkwardly, as if he feels bad for reminding them that some people still have parents.

The radio squawks, an awful sound that hurts Derek’s ears, already over-sensitized from all the sirens tonight. They found another body, in the woods behind the house. So that’s all of them, then. Someone besides Peter got out, but didn’t get far.

"We can deal with it in the morning," the sheriff says to Laura, but she shakes her head.

"I’d rather just do it now." All night she’s been the one who talked to the sheriff, gave names and ages and identifying details, who gave them Peter’s information as they loaded him into the ambulance. “I want to know who it is."

Derek doesn’t want to know who it is. He doesn’t want to know who almost made it, but died anyway. He doesn’t want to go back to the house ever again. He doesn’t even want to be in this car, trapped with the smell of smoke and death that clings to their clothes. He tries to open the door, desperate for air, then realizes he can’t. Cop car.

"Hang on," the sheriff says, and gets out and opens the door. Derek scrambles out, hauling in deep lungfuls of clean air that smells like flowerbeds and freshly mowed grass. “You wanna stay here?" the sheriff asks.

"Yeah. Thanks for the ride," Derek says, like the sheriff did him a favor instead of his job.

He barely acknowledges Laura’s assurances that she’ll be back soon, the sheriff’s insistence that if he needs anything he just call.

He’s up the sidewalk and on the front porch before he realizes he left his stuff in the car. When he spins around, it’s only to see the cruiser’s taillights disappear around the corner.

Laura and Derek don’t have much. Their school backpacks, plastic bags from the Red Cross with toothbrushes and soap in them. Someone found a faded sweatshirt for Laura, who was wearing a sleeveless shirt. That’s it. And now he doesn’t even have that, until Laura comes back.

He barely knocks before a blonde woman with a kind face opens the door. The house smells like peanut butter cookies. Over her shoulder, Derek can see what looks like an entire kitchen full of people, mostly kids, watching them. Most of the kids have glasses of milk.

He doesn’t want to to go in. He doesn’t want to know these people. He doesn’t want to live here for the next two months, until Laura turns eighteen.

"You must be Derek," the woman, who doesn’t know any of this, says, and her voice is soft, her eyes a little watery. She doesn’t ask where Laura is, though she had to be expecting them both. “I’m Annie."

Their foster mom, Derek thinks, but his brain trips on the word “mom." Mom is gone. Dad is gone. Peter might as well be gone. They’re all gone.

"Come in," Annie says. “Do you like peanut butter cookies?" and Derek…Derek doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know anymore.


	7. Stiles Stilinski's Big Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pee-wee's Big Adventure AU. In which I ramble about how such a story would go.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring image, which is just a picture of Stiles' Jeep.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/48936562636/i-know-you-are-but-what-am-i)

~*~

Someone needs to write me a story called “Stiles Stilinski’s Big Adventure" where Stiles’ Jeep gets stolen and he calls everyone together in his basement and gives an incredibly detailed forensics breakdown with a PowerPoint presentation and grainy security camera footage, and passes around spiral bound hand-outs titled “What We Know" and “Persons of Interest" and then at the end is like, “Okay, who’s with me?"

And Scott’s all sheepish, “I have a job, dude. I can’t just…leave. Even for you. Sorry."

And Jackson took off with Lydia three minutes in when he realized this was all about the Jeep, and Danny has an awesome summer internship at Google and is leaving tomorrow, and Boyd and Erica and Isaac are going to that weekend workshop on polyamory etc etc etc and finally it’s just Derek left, and Stiles is morosely taking apart the diorama and not even giving Derek a hopeful look because it’s DEREK, he isn’t going to agree to go, and then Derek says, “I’ll go."

So they spend the next three weeks driving all over the country in Derek’s Camaro meeting a bunch of zany people who are all characters from other stuff, like when they get to Portland, and Eliot and Derek bond silently and manfully, and when they do actually have a conversation it’s about how much they hate guns and cattle prods respectively. Meanwhile, Hardison and Parker and Stiles are getting on like hell on fire, and there is a long conversation about Batman (Hardison and Stiles) and some teaching of innocent little tips for breaking and entering (Parker and Stiles) and then lots of candy eating (Hardison and Parker and Stiles) and a lot of eye rolling (Eliot and Derek).

And then when Stiles is crashed out on the couch on top of Hardison’s sonic screwdriver and the set of lock picks Parker gave him, Parker and Hardison give Eliot and Derek the most hopeful looks and are like, “Can we keep him?" and both Eliot and Derek say “NO" and there’s a little pouting the next day over this but not too much, and the three of them exchange this weird handshake Stiles made up that no one—not even Scott!—will ever do with him except these two nuts, and Eliot and Derek exchange looks like “Whaddya gonna do?"

Okay, but wait a sec though. On the first day they drive and drive and Stiles is on his laptop in the passenger seat the whole time, tracking the BOLO responses and putting Google Maps through its paces, and Derek is wearing a soft T-shirt with a little vee at the throat and his sunglasses and making Stiles listen to actual radio stations when Stiles has a perfectly good collection of music on his phone. And when it gets late and they’re tired Derek asks, “So where you wanna stop?" and then Stiles realizes he maaaaaaaybe forgot to think about that detail? Just a little? He’s got all the stuff about The Case (as he calls it) and he’s got some clothes shoved in a backpack, and a family-sized bag of Doritos, but he really didn’t consider things like, well. Money. For motels. It took a long time to build the diorama, okay? He was busy.

Derek doesn’t even get mad. He just pulls over at the first motel they see, and goes in the office and then comes out a few seconds later with his face all scrunched up and says, “We’re not staying here," and Stiles doesn’t ask, he just trusts the werewolf nose. The next one is okay though, and Derek gets just one room, which is probably just a financial decision. They order Chinese food and then it’s time to sleep and they’re in a motel room together, and here’s another thing Stiles maaaaaaaybe didn’t think about: he hasn’t slept in the same room as Derek since that summer he was seventeen and the alpha pack came to town, and Stiles’ little crush on Derek bloomed into something far more painful and permanent, but just as unrequited. So. Here they are. Alone together. In a room with two beds.

Stiles tries not to make any eye contact, and fall asleep as quickly as possible, and he certainly doesn’t’ wake up in the morning before Derek and just take a few minutes to stare at him over on the other bed, sprawled out on his back in his underwear, one arm thrown over his head. Nope.

But in between working on The Case and getting mixed up in wacky adventures, sleeping in the same room stops being weird and starts becoming comfortable. And Stiles knows how Derek takes his coffee, and Derek knows the exact ripeness Stiles likes his bananas. Stiles notices how nice it is to hang out, just the two of them, and only gets a little jealous that his phone is constantly going off, because his betas miss him. Derek often projects an air of long-suffering martyr, but he also indulges most of Stiles’ whims, and he covers him up with the blanket when Stiles falls asleep on top of his computer, and he lets him eat in the car, which until now was absolutely forbidden to everyone. Stiles falls asleep, once, with his head on Derek’s thigh while they wait for someone to figure out they’re trapped in the vault with the dead bank robber, and it feels nice, even with a dead bank robber right there. Right before he drifts off, he thinks he feels Derek’s fingers creep up the back of his neck and into his hair.

In the meantime, the Jeep keeps getting sold from auction to auction and being shipped around the country on car carrier semis with a bunch of other sad, unwanted cars. Stiles and Derek are only a day or two behind sometimes, but they keep getting held up by wacky adventures, like when they rescue a baby werewolf in Oklahoma, which is where they meet the brothers Winchester, and Derek is kind of irritated and says to Stiles, “Are you going to crush on everyone we meet the whole trip?" and Stiles is like, “MAYBE."

Eventually they stop very briefly in Louisiana but Derek does not like the way Stiles looks at Alcide*, so they leave right away. After that they follow some leads up into Kentucky and help Raylan Givens solve a crime. Then they go to Indiana where they eat at The Pie Hole (where does Pushing Daisies take place? I don’t think we know so I’m putting it in Indiana so I can use it) and that’s probably where they are when Stiles meets the psychic, because Pushing Daisies is totally the kind of show where there’d be a quirky psychic in town, and unfortunately they leave before Emerson busts her for being a fraud and also a cover for an exotic bird smuggling ring.

Anyway, the psychic sits down in Derek’s spot and tells Stiles the Jeep is in Milwaukee and says her brother, who is also a psychic, lives in Chicago and can help them find it and oh by the way can you give him these canaries? They belonged to our mother, who died a few months ago, and my brother wants them. Derek comes back from the bathroom and Stiles has a ventilated cardboard box full of birds and two more pieces of pie in to go containers.

They drive to Chicago with the birds—who are terrified of Derek—chirping in the back seat the entire time. The Chicago psychic is really pleased to see them, and because he is psychic he knew they were coming, so he’s already got an address written down for them, thanks for coming, see you later, bye bye! And Stiles is ecstatic! And then Stiles and Derek get arrested for smuggling exotic birds.

While they are arrested in Chicago the Camaro gets towed, because if you spend more than ten minutes in Chicago your car gets towed. But they are hot on the trail of the Jeep and SO CLOSE, and Stiles makes big pleading eyes at Derek so they leave the Camaro and get on the Greyhound. They can come back IN THE JEEP and get the Camaro, Stiles says cheerfully. Derek sulks a little, because he is way too cool to ride the bus and he wants his car back and also Stiles took the window seat. But Stiles is so excited the whole time—THERE IS A CHEESE CASTLE DEREK! A CASTLE MADE OF CHEESE!—and when they finally get to the bus station they hail a cab and they get in and Stiles is like “Take us to 730 Knapp Street!" and the cabbie says, “Yeah, you’re hilarious. Only the four hundredth time I’ve heard that. Where ya wanna go?" And Stiles is like WTF and tells him he’s trying to find his car and this is the address he was given, and the cabbie says, “Well, you were lied to, because that address doesn’t exist. That’s where Laverne and Shirley lived on that old TV show."

Then it probably starts raining. And Stiles and Derek get back out of the cab and stand there in the rain. Because that’s metaphorical and stuff. And Derek puts his arm around Stiles, and Stiles buries his face in Derek’s shoulder.

And then! Something something plot—maybe Sheriff calls? They know where the Jeep is! It’s at The House on the Rock!

So they rent a Kia Soul and drive to Spring Green in the rain, and Stiles uses his phone to take about eighty pictures of Derek driving a Kia Soul because that shit needs to be documented forever. Derek just grips the steering wheel in an increasingly menacing manner and concentrates on driving in the rain holy fucking hell how did he not know it rains this hard in the Midwest what kind of hellhole—

And then they get to the House on the Rock and they pay to get in and Stiles is like THIS IS THE MOST AMAZING PLACE I’VE EVER BEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE and Derek is like SENSORY OVERLOAD UGH. They check out the Infinity Room and the Streets of Yesterday and there’s a room with an enormous whale fighting an octopus, which makes perfect sense while you’re trapped in the House on the Rock pocket universe for six hours like they are. They get ice cream cones at the ice cream parlor and when they get to the giant merry-go-round Stiles stands there and watches it for a long time, the millions of lights reflected in his huge eyes as it spins past them, his mouth hanging slightly open like it does when he’s distracted, and Derek thinks this trip is the best and worst idea he’s had in a long time.

After that they sneak into the employee only areas and look around, and probably Stiles screams out loud at one point when an old stuffed bear almost falls on him and Derek can’t stop laughing, and then they find the Jeep, which is going to be used in a new display, because some old lady who collected pith helmets and dead bugs died and left all her helmets and bugs to the House, and now they’re setting up a scientific expedition attraction and they need a Jeep and a tent and some other stuff.

And Stiles is like THAT IS MY JEEP IT WAS STOLEN GIVE IT BACK.

And the guy supervising the new display is thoroughly unimpressed, like, “I dunno, we paid five hundred bucks for it," and Derek says, “I’ll give you five thousand for it," and Stiles is like WHAT and the guy’s like, “Ehhhh, but we had to pay someone to go to the auction and find the perfect Jeep and—" and Derek says, “TEN THOUSAND," and Stiles is like WHAT WHAT and the guy is like YOU’RE A MADMAN BUT I’LL TAKE YOUR MONEY.

But then Stiles deflates and says, “Forget it. It’s not worth ten thousand dollars," and then Derek makes prolonged and tender eye contact with him and says, “It is to you, so it is to me."

And Stiles is just sort of floored because he’s had a lot of theories these last three weeks as to why Derek agreed to come with him, and they were mostly stuff like he doesn’t trust Stiles to not get kidnapped or accidentally anger a whole bar full of vampire bikers and almost get eaten or whatever (for the record, Stiles now has proof that Derek’s presence cannot prevent either of those things from happening). But it never really occurred to him to realize Derek is here because that’s what Stiles wants, and Derek wants Stiles to have what he wants. And Stiles wants the Jeep. So Stiles gets the Jeep.

And the first thing he does is get in it and just kind of look at it for a bit. It still smells the same, like gym clothes and old fast food bags and the hot vinyl smell when the sun hits the roof. And all the stuff is still in the glove compartment, like the tire gauge his dad gave him when he turned the keys over to him, and the folded up piece of paper that’s the maintenance record, every oil change for the last twenty-five years noted on it, at first in Stiles’ mom’s handwriting and then later, after a gap of several years, in Stiles’ own. And Scott’s report card from junior year is still shoved under the passenger seat. He maybe tears up a bit. Derek stands a polite distance away and pretends to be fascinated by the pith helmets.

Once the emotional reunion is over they decide to stay at the House on the Rock inn, which is nearby and nice enough, and they drive there in separate cars even though Derek lobbies to just leave the Kia in the parking lot and forget it exists. Anyway, separate cars, which is really kind of weird now, and neither of them likes it but they pretend it doesn’t matter.

Derek gets just one room for the two of them like always, even though now Stiles knows he’s got money to throw around, and Stiles thinks some more about the last three weeks, and the ten thousand bucks, and how Derek just put everything aside to help him, and when Derek comes back from the ice machine even though they don’t have anything they need ice for Stiles says, “I’m sorry," and Derek says, “For what?" and Stiles says, “For not knowing you’re in love with me," and Derek scowls at him and Stiles says, “I’m going to kiss you now," and Derek says, “FINE WHATEVER" but he looks really hopeful and a little scared, and then they do kiss. And then they mess around a little, and then they go eat some cheeseburgers and milkshakes, and buy some Cokes for all the ice Derek got, and a box of condoms and the biggest bottle of lube they can find.

And that’s how Stiles finds out Derek is a goddamn cocksucking prodigy. Like, he doesn’t know jack about how to order a meal at Waffle House (who gets the salad?!?!) or why Chrome is far superior to Firefox, but he can deep throat like a champ. And he moans the whole time, and stares up at Stiles with his beautiful eyes, and makes sure to keep his scruffy chin off Stiles’ balls, and is just generally really into it, so much that Stiles feels like there’s no way he can return the favor quite that enthusiastically or skillfully, even though he’s spent quite a bit of time imagining what it would be like to blow Derek. He gives it his best shot, though.

THE END

*I know nothing about Alcide except he is a hot werewolf from Louisiana and is on one of those vampire shows. THAT’S PLENTY. I HAVE EYES.


	8. The AU Break Up of the Neckz 'n Throats AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Deucalion shows up and things go wrong. Unhappy ending. (This did not actually happen in the Love Runs Wild universe!) (Also, I wrote this before we knew Deucalion was blind.)

[Link to original Tumblr post.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/49157223719/drinkmasturbatecry-said-you-monster#notes)

~*~

I’m not going to write a sequel and break them up!

But if I did, I would do it like this:

"There’s just one catch," Laura says, making a show of easing off her bright green stiletto heels and settling back in her chair before she tells them what the catch is exactly. She’s nervous, Stiles is surprised to notice. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her nervous before. Irritated, exhausted, giddy, triumphant—but never nervous. She takes a deep breath and meets Derek’s eyes. “He’ll only do it if he can work with Stiles."

"No," Derek says instantly, before Stiles’ brain has even fully absorbed the fact that _Deucalion_ not only knows who Stiles is but wants to work with him. _Only_ him. He’s made it a condition of posing for _Neckz ‘n Throats_ , even. The most famous werewolf porn star in the world wants to work with _Stiles_.

"Derek, this is huge," Laura says, like they don’t all know. Someone knocks hesitantly on her office door, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. They’ll go away. “We’ve been trying to get him for years. He’s never expressed any interest in taking us up on it until now."

"I don’t care," Derek says stubbornly. He sets his jaw and glares at her.

"Hey! Don’t I get a say?" Stiles interjects, finally catching up to the conversation—Deucalion knows who he is!—and feeling a little irritated they’re talking about him like he really doesn’t get a say at all. Like he’s a commodity.

"No," Derek says again, this time to Stiles, and Stiles is well and truly taken aback. As much as they like to play around with Derek being dominant in bed, he’s never tried to actually control Stiles’ _life_ before. He’s never told him what he can and can’t do. Stiles does not approve.

"What if I want to do it?" Stiles asks Laura, more to make a point than anything else, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Derek’s fingers tighten on the wooden arm of his chair.

"It’d be the biggest move of your career," Laura promises, while at the same time Derek says, “You’re not doing it."

Stiles turns to narrow his eyes at Derek, stubbornness rolling through him like a wave. He’s never taken well to being told he can’t do something. “I’m an adult. It’s my body," he says sharply, voice rising a little before he can control it.

Derek scoffs at Stiles’ outrage, adding fuel to the fire. “Oh, so you’re Gloria Steinem all of a sudden?" he asks him, fully loaded with sarcasm. Stiles wants to _strangle_ him.

"Do not diss Gloria Steinem!" Laura says hotly, and now they’re all mad. Great.

Derek’s attention snaps back to her. Stiles can practically see the tension building in his shoulders. “Then don’t ask me to let my—to be okay with Stiles working with fucking _Deucalion_."

"We’ll set up ground rules," Laura says, trying to bargain with him. “They don’t even have to touch. We’ll make it work."

"You think he’ll agree to _ground rules?_ " Derek asks scathingly.

Laura doesn’t bother to answer that. “Listen," she says softly. “I know what I’m asking is—"

"You don’t really know what you’re asking, or you wouldn’t be asking it at all," Derek cuts in, words clipped, and he’s furious, Stiles realizes. Quietly, but completely. “Or are you not asking?" he says, almost like a challenge, and it takes Stiles a second to figure out what he means. He’s asking if Laura is going to order him, as his alpha, to say it’s okay.

"I wouldn’t do that, Derek," Laura says quickly. “You know I wouldn’t."

Derek doesn’t respond to that. He seethes silently, not looking at either of them, until Stiles says, “Can we go?"

~*~

"It’s just pictures. It’s just a job," Stiles says, when they get back upstairs and Derek is raging his way around the kitchen. They were about to eat dinner when Laura asked them to come down and talk to her.

"It isn’t," Derek says, and slams the cupboard shut so hard the dishes inside jump, clinking together. When he turns around, he looks annoyed with Stiles’ lack of comprehension.

Stiles lifts his hands helplessly. He knows Derek is a werewolf, he knows werewolves are territorial, but Derek’s reaction is so much more extreme than he can comprehend. This isn’t the Derek he knows, the one he sees every day.

"Everyone knows who you are, Stiles," Derek goes on. “Deucalion could have agreed to a shoot, and demanded it be with you, at any time. Do you think it’s a coincidence that after I—after we got together, now he wants to work with you?" His voice gets louder as he picks up steam, and Stiles has to will himself not to flinch. “Laura approaches him every year like clockwork, and he’s always said no. He said no last year. The only difference between this year and last year is that now you and I are public knowledge. He’s an asshole, Stiles, and he likes to play power games. He wants to work with you because you’re m—because we’re together."

Derek is probably right—the timing of it all is suspicious, but that doesn’t even matter now, because they’ve got a far bigger problem on their hands. Stiles didn’t miss all the swerves, all the half-uttered words, and he didn’t miss the one a few minutes ago in Laura’s office, either. Derek’s trying not to say them, but he’s thinking them.

_Then don’t ask me to **let** my boyfriend work with Deucalion._

_Less than a year after **I got you**._

_He wants you because **you’re mine**._

"What if it was someone else?" Stiles asks, testing. “We never talked about working with other people."

Derek blinks at him, visibly shocked. “I didn’t think we had to."

That’s all the answer Stiles needs, to a lot of questions. He shrugs, projecting a nonchalance he doesn’t actually feel. “Laura seemed to think it was okay to ask."

Derek takes Stiles’ favorite glass out of the dishwasher and sets it carefully on the table at Stiles’ usual place before he replies. Stalling to either get his emotions under control or come up with an answer, Stiles thinks.

"Laura thinks of the business first," Derek says finally. “And she always has, so she had to ask, because that’s her job. And she doesn’t fully understand, because she’s never had a—she’s never been in a relationship like ours. But she knows I’m right."

"You sound pretty sure of that," Stiles says, while wondering what exactly their relationship is like to _Derek_.

"He’s an _alpha_ , Stiles," Derek says, some of his earlier frustration leaking into his tone again. “Do you know what it would mean if you posed with him? What it would say about me? About us?"

"Is this about your _ego?_ " Stiles boggles.

"No!" Derek says, with such vehemence that Stiles believes him. He runs his hand through his hair, blowing out a frustrated breath. “It’s…hard to explain."

Stiles isn’t sure he even wants Derek to try. This is what’s known as the end of the honeymoon phase, he thinks dully. Only in their case, it’s not about who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor or who snores all night. This is so much bigger, and possibly insurmountable.

"I’m not trying to control your life," Derek says, picking up on what’s going on in Stiles’ head.

"That’s pretty much what it looks like," Stiles admits, and he’s not even angry about it anymore. He’s just sad. Because up until ten minutes ago he’d thought he was going to be with Derek for a really, really long time. But he hadn’t really understood what he was getting into, what being with a werewolf really meant. Stiles hadn’t known what he was agreeing to. He just hadn’t known.

Derek turns back to the counter and reaches for the plates, starts spooning out taco casserole. He tilts his head sideways, toward the table. “Sit down. We’ll talk more after we eat."

Stiles doesn’t sit down, because now it sounds like a command.

Two days ago, their new landlord sent Scott and Stiles a notice that their rent was going up a whole lot more than they are willing to pay for an apartment the size and condition of theirs. Scott is talking about moving in with Allison, buying a ring. In the spring, Stiles will graduate from college, and there’s grad school to think about—if he wants to go, and to which one.

These are all decisions that, when he contemplates the options, make him immediately factor in Derek. Not Scott anymore, because he and Stiles are friends forever, but Scott and Allison are a unit, moving through life together now. Not Stiles’ job, not the magazine, but Derek himself. Stiles has imagined what it might be like, sticking around here, moving in with Derek. And maybe he’d been a little deluded about what it would be like. Maybe he’d been just plain wrong.

Derek’s made it perfectly clear, without actually asking, that he’d love to have Stiles move in with him. “You can leave some stuff here, if you want," he’d said, pretty early on, and then given him a lot more space than Stiles needed for some spare underwear and a Sonicare toothbrush. “You can stay," he’d say, most nights when Stiles was here, until he’d gone from sleeping over on the weekends to a lot of weeknights, too, doing his homework at the kitchen table while Derek cooked dinner or did a million push-ups and stomach crunches.

Derek will fill Stiles’ plate first and set it in front of him even when it’s just macaroni and cheese, carefully take away his laptop when he’s starting to get too bleary-eyed, buy tickets to movies he knows Stiles wants to see. He will give Stiles his T-shirts to wear, order decaf for him when he suspects Stiles has redlined his caffeine meter, tell him it’s time to come to bed when he’s worn thin from too much school work. If Stiles is too keyed up to sleep, Derek will fuck him until he can turn off his brain and pass out.

It had all seemed so innocent, and comforting. Like stuff your boyfriend would do for you because he loves you. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe Derek _has_ been controlling Stiles’ life this whole time. Stiles just didn’t notice.

"I need to go home," Stiles says thickly, before he can change his mind, thinking, what does he have here? The toothbrush, some clothes, his spare laptop is tucked under his side of the bed…

“ _What?_ " Derek says, like the word is punched out of him, whipping his head around to stare at Stiles, white-knuckled grip on the serving spoon, and that’s a look Stiles hasn’t ever seen on Derek before: fear.


	9. Up Against the Door Blowjob Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I could put him up against the door and blow him_ , Derek thought idly.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring gif by fucklinski.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/49175839722/i-could-put-him-up-against-the-door-and-blow-him)

~*~

_I could put him up against the door and blow him, Derek thought idly,_ when Stiles was sprawled open-legged in his desk chair, gnawing on a marker while the bestiary’s search engine slowly crawled along.

Kiss him a little first, because his mouth was a thing of beauty. Open his pants with one hand while he held the back of Stiles’ neck with the other and fucked his mouth with his tongue. Look him in the eye when he slid to his knees, so he could see the look on Stiles’ face when he figured out what Derek was going to do. Tease him a little first, slowly tasting him before getting serious about it. Just suck on the head for a minute, because it would feel so smooth and hot and right in his mouth, and then start moving up and down, take as much as he can, which is usually a lot. Maybe all of it, depending on how big Stiles is.

Hold him by the base, tease his balls with his fingers, maybe tease him a little further back, see if that’s a possibility later. It’s a safe bet no one’s ever done any of that before; Stiles is pretty vocal in his complaints that he never gets any action. Derek would be the first person to put their mouth on him, to make him come, to make him give up control of his orgasm to another person, helpless to speed it up or slow it down, just stand there on shaky knees and give into it.

Stiles would probably be really responsive, dig his hands into Derek’s hair, tip his head back and moan, just wallow in it. Derek would probably have to hold his hips, maybe even reach up, at the end, and put his hand over Stiles’ mouth to stifle the sounds he made when he came. Derek would be the first person to know what Stiles tastes like when he gives it all up.

The grating screech and clack of Stiles’ printer drags Derek back to reality. He’s hard now, throbbing, hot and damp inside his jeans. Stiles has no idea.

"Here you go," Stiles says, reaching to hand Derek a thin stack of papers. The movement shows Derek a long, pale stretch of skin from his ear to his collarbones, the bump of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. “Need anything else?"

Derek takes the papers and slowly folds them into thirds and then shoves them in the inside pocket of his jacket. When he stands up, he doesn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes snag on the crotch of his jeans before darting away, not for the first time.

"Not right now," Derek says. “Thanks. See you later."

"Yeah, later," Stiles says, already turning back to his computer.

Later.


	10. The Sheriff Finds Out About Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Um. There’s something I need to tell you about Derek." Contains canon-typical violence and Frito Pie.

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring image by riidus.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/51683074210/the-other-story-i-want-is-the-one-where-stiles-is)

~*~

The other story I want is the one where Stiles is in college and he and Derek start dating, because I always want a story where Stiles and Derek start dating. But! In this one, Derek’s hanging around at the Stilinski house a lot, and Stiles is spending the night at Derek’s place a lot, and Sheriff is like, “Sure are spending a lot of time with Derek Hale," and Stiles is like, “Er. Yes?" But that’s as far as the conversation goes, because Stiles is of legal age and also the Sheriff is kind of busy boning the hot single mom who moved in across the street last year. Boning her a lot, and very competently. Maybe even sometimes stopping by on his lunch break, with his gun on his hip and—wait, what is this story about? ANYWAY.

So one night Stiles and his dad are eating dinner at home, which they do just the two of them every Wednesday, and Derek stumbles through the back door. Without knocking!And he’s bleeding all over! And carrying a rifle!

Sheriff yells, “Stiles, run!" and goes for his sidearm and flips the dining room table onto its side and crouches behind it with his gun aimed at Derek and Stiles is like DAD WHAT ARE YOU. HAVE YOU LOST YOUR. OMG DAD!

But then Derek sort of collapses onto the floor in slow motion and the rifle goes skidding under Stiles’ chair, and Sheriff is yelling “Stay away from him!" but now that Stiles has gotten over the shock of seeing his dad spill Frito pie and Diet Mountain Dew all over the dining room he notices that Derek’s got all these arrows sticking out of him, and at least one bullet wound and oh fuck, Stiles recognizes that kind of bullet hole. Derek’s been shot with a wolfsbane bullet, and he brought the gun to Stiles.

(Here Stiles takes a moment to get a little nostalgic over everything they’ve been through together, and a little dewy over how far they’ve come in the years since this happened the first time. But just a moment. Not long enough to, like, severely impact Derek’s chances of survival.)

Meanwhile, Derek’s clawing at the floor, trying to get to the gun, and his eyes keep flashing red and Stiles is like IXNAY ON THE EDRAY BRO as he grabs the gun. His dad is yelling at him to get away, but Stiles is yelling back, “Dad, chill out! I need to—" and he fumbles the bullet out and does the thing with the lighter and Derek does the thing with the writhing on the floor and whoops there’s some nostalgia again, and also some other things that are very inappropriate at a time like this. Then Stiles helps Derek pull the arrows out and when it’s all over his dad is standing there next to him staring down at Derek with his gun held limply at his side.

Derek leaps to his feet and says, “Thanks. I gotta go," and runs back out the door.

Stiles stands up, crushing a bunch of Fritos under his sneakers, and says, “Um. There’s something I need to tell you about Derek."

And Sheriff holsters his sidearm and sets the table back on its legs and says, wearily, “I know. He’s a cyborg."

And Stiles is like, “Exactly! Wait—what?"

Sheriff gives his kid an eye-rolly _Come on, I’m not an idiot_ look and says, “I saw what just happened. He healed all those arrow and bullet wounds instantly, and his eyes kept lighting up red. He’s a robot assassin or something. Like the Terminator."

And then while Stiles is like, “Uhhhh…." Sheriff sits down and rubs his face with both of his hands and makes this frustrated ARRRRRRGGGGHHH sound and then he looks at Stiles and sighs and says, “So tell me the truth, Stiles. Is he here from the future to protect you? Is that why he’s been hanging around so much?"

And Stiles stares at him and then says, “Yeah. Got it in one, Dad," and then they hug and when Derek comes back to face the music, even bloodier than he was when he left, and possibly with a human ear in his pocket—shhh, don’t say anything—Stiles is like HEY SO I’M THE FUTURE LEADER OF A REVOLUTION AND YOU’RE MY ROBOT GUARD DOG. JUST GO ALONG WITH IT. AND MAYBE MAKE SOME BEEP BOOP NOISES OKAY.

But Derek will not go along with it, and so he says, “Actually, I’m a werewolf," and Sheriff sets a plate of Frito pie down in front of him—the part that wasn’t under Stiles’ sneakers—and says, “Yeah, right."

And Stiles kicks Derek in the shin and slurps up some Diet Mountain Dew through his straw and says, “BEEP BOOP!" and Derek hates him, he really does.

Actually, screw the story. I want this to happen on the show.

**There is now[a podfic by anna_unfolding!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/842370)**


	11. Derek Trusts Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes Stiles a while to figure it out. (Contains BDSM themes, non-negotiated kink, and submissive Derek.)

[Link to original Tumblr post that includes the inspiring image by devilsdouble.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/51928579396/contains-bdsm-themes-non-negotiated-kink-it)

~*~

It takes Stiles a while to figure it out.

Derek has this thing where he likes Stiles to sit on the edge of the bed while he kneels on the floor and blows him, which Stiles actually really loves, because the view is very nice. He likes watching Derek’s dark head bob up and down, watch his arm muscles flex when he uses his hand, too. He likes to see the wide, muscular plane of Derek’s back between his knees, and to cup his hand over the breathtakingly vulnerable nape of his neck. Sometimes he gets so distracted by the view he comes before he wants to, but that’s okay, too.

Tonight he wants it to last, so he pants, “Wait, slow down, I don’t want to come yet," and tightens his fingers in Derek’s hair, which drags an answering moan out of Derek, but he does as he’s asked, gentling his mouth so he’s barely sucking at all. He grips Stiles’ cock at the base, thumb hooked under his balls, and rubs the head across his open mouth, little flicks of his tongue making Stiles’ knees jump against Derek’s ribs. Stiles feels his orgasm retreat bit by bit until it loses its urgency and he can just enjoy what Derek’s doing, the simple pleasure of being in his mouth.

Once Stiles’ thighs stop tensing and his breathing evens out, he expects Derek to get back to it, but he doesn’t. Derek only plays some more, patient, mouthing at him, running his tongue up the underside, until Stiles realizes he’s waiting for the go-ahead.

"Okay, okay," Stiles says, when he definitely feels like he’s cooled off enough to last a little longer. He curves his fingers over the back of Derek’s head, urging him back down. “God, you’re so good at that."

A few minutes later, Stiles is leaning back on his elbows trying to catch his breath after a mind-blowing orgasm. Derek’s nipping at the inside of Stiles’ thighs, shifting restlessly, hands cupped around Stiles’ rib cage, when he asks, soft and muffled, “Can I jerk off?"

"Come up here and I’ll blow you," Stiles offers, nudging him with his foot. The floor can’t be comfortable, even for werewolf knees, and Stiles waited years to be able to put his mouth all over Derek. He’s fully committed to taking advantage of it at every opportunity.

Derek doesn’t say anything, but somehow his whole body manages to convey disappointment in Stiles’ answer. He slowly lifts his head, not meeting Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles says, quickly, “Or—if you’d rather, yeah. Yeah, that’s cool. I want to see."

He doesn’t get to see much, actually. Derek keeps one arm circled tight around Stiles’ waist and jerks off with the other, and everything happening between his legs is hidden by his broad shoulders, though Stiles can see his arm jumping, can feel him tense and tremble. Through it all, Derek hides his face in the crook of Stiles’ hip and makes these sounds, these whimpering little moans, that Stiles has never heard him make before, and Stiles has a pretty terrifying moment of sexual inadequacy, because no matter how good he’s made Derek feel, he’s never made him sound like this, like he’s—like Derek makes himself feel, apparently.

They fuck again in the morning before Stiles goes to work, and it’s all normal and fun, and Derek seems to enjoy himself plenty even though he doesn’t make the noises he made the night before. Later, eating a ham and cheese sandwich at his desk, Stiles feels shitty for thinking of it as “normal." It’s _all_ normal, he knows that; he went to Berkeley.

Stiles reminds himself he’s an open-minded and accepting guy, and he’ll gladly do whatever Derek wants, and not get weird over it. Derek is shit at asking for things, but Stiles loves a mystery. They’ll get it figured out.

A few weeks later, Derek maneuvers him to the edge of the bed again, and it’s the same thing: he sucks Stiles’ brains out through his dick, and then wants to jerk off. Or, actually, Stiles realizes in an unusual moment of post-orgasm clarity, he wants permission to jerk off, and Stiles gives it to him, manages to stutter out his assent. He pets Derek’s hair while he makes himself come, and Derek really gets off on that, too.

The third time, Stiles says, “You’re such a good boy," while Derek’s quivering at his feet. It’s kind of tentative; his voice rising at the end like it’s a question, but the _sound_ Derek makes in response… _oh my God_. And now Stiles really understands. He gets it.

"Slow," Stiles orders him the next time, when he can tell Derek’s about to come, and Derek whimpers against Stiles’ stomach, spine bowing sharply, body fighting what Derek’s trying to get it to do, but he slows down anyway because Stiles told him to. Stiles watches the motion of his arm, the flex of his shoulder, and then says, “Slower, slower," until Derek’s hand is barely moving, and then, finally, “Stop."

Derek makes a pained sound as he lets go of his cock and grabs onto Stiles’ shin instead, fingers digging into his calf muscle. His hips are moving in aborted little jerks, and he’s panting, eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open.

"Get me hard again," Stiles tells him, and then hisses, “Easy," when Derek dives in and sucks a little too hard. It takes a few minutes, because Stiles just came, but this is Derek and nothing in his life has turned Stiles on like Derek does, and eventually he’s hard again, Derek holding him nice and tight at the base how he likes.

Stiles takes Derek’s head in his hands and moves his mouth up and down his cock, slow and easy, not trying to choke him or force him, just control him. Derek braces his hands on the bed and lets Stiles use his mouth how he wants, relaxes his jaw and just takes it. He’s really into it, moaning deep in his throat, rubbing his leaking cock against Stiles’ leg until Stiles warns him not to.

Derek only resists once, on an upstroke. He drops his head instead, until he’s got Stiles all the way in, bumping against the back of his throat, where he swallows convulsively around him, eyelashes fluttering with pleasure. He looks—he looks so happy to be used like this, pushed to the limit of what he can take, so Stiles gives it to him, holding Derek’s head still and lifting his hips instead, going as deep as he dares, over and over. Stiles brings himself right up to the edge of orgasm before he takes his cock away from Derek, leaving him huffing in frustration, his mouth a wet, red gash in his gorgeous, fuckable face.

"Are you still hard?" Stiles asks, running his thumb across Derek’s bottom lip.

"Yes," Derek says, voice cracking, wrecked.

"Sit up," Stiles orders, “Show me," and Derek does, hands dragging across the sheets to curl under Stiles’ knees, like he needs the touch. When he sits back on his heels, chest flushed and heaving, Stiles can see Derek’s dick is standing up stiff and dark red, probably aching, probably feeling like the skin over the head is stretched tight enough to split. Derek blinks up at Stiles, waiting. He looks dazed, drugged, like he’d do anything Stiles wanted right now. He looks amazing.

Stiles’ cock is still slick and wet, but he puts his first two fingers in Derek’s mouth anyway, his whole body tightening up at the way Derek closes his eyes and takes them deep, sucking hard, humming a little like he’s so pleased Stiles is letting him do this. His mouth is so hot and soft, the stubble on his jaw tickling Stiles’ thumb.

Derek tries to follow Stiles’ fingers when Stiles takes them away, but Stiles says, “No," and Derek sits back again and watches intently as Stiles starts to jerk himself off. It’s not going to take very long, because Stiles is close already, from fucking Derek’s mouth, from having his fingers sucked, from seeing Derek like this, hungry and pliant, doing whatever Stiles asks. Stiles crowds forward and grabs a fistful of Derek’s hair and tips his head back, baring his throat. Derek’s cock jumps as he swallows hard and makes a low whining sound; his eyes are hooded, his cheeks bright red.

"Close your eyes. Open your mouth," Stiles says. It doesn’t even sound like his voice. Derek does as he’s told, fingers flexing into the back of Stiles’ knees. Stiles is so fucking close. He’s almost there.

"Show me your fangs," Stiles says before he can overthink it—they’ve never gone here before in bed, and he’s not sure if it’s okay, but it must be, because Derek obediently opens his mouth wider and drops his fangs, shiny and white and deadly. Stiles shivers, looking at that dangerous mouth that was just on his cock, and strokes himself faster.

Derek is an apex predator, a creature made for killing, and here he is, on his knees by choice, offering himself up to Stiles’ control. It’s a thrilling thought, but more significant than Derek’s power in his hands is Derek’s trust, as fragile as his body is strong, and that’s Stiles’, too. All this time Stiles thought he knew how much Derek loved him, but he was wrong. This is love, this right here.

It burns hot and bright in Stiles’ chest, closing off his throat so he can’t even make a sound when he comes all over Derek’s beautiful, blissed-out face. In his fanged mouth, on the improbably sharp edges of his cheekbones, where his eyelashes are so pretty and fragile against his skin.

When Stiles is done, trying to catch his breath, trying to unclench his hand from around his dick, Derek closes his mouth, swallows, then licks at his bottom lip. His fangs are still out, his eyes still closed.

"Oh my fucking God," Stiles says, shaking a little. He can’t believe he just did that. He can’t believe he didn’t do that sooner.

He cups Derek’s face in his hands and leans down to kiss his bitter, messy mouth. “That was so good," he whispers, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. “You did so good."

Derek’s hands twitch under Stiles’ knees, squeezing, and he lets out a shaky breath and opens his mouth for Stiles’ tongue. They kiss for a bit, careful around Derek’s sharp teeth, Stiles still recovering.

"You can come now," he says, when his brain starts working again and he remembers Derek’s still waiting. Stiles guides Derek’s head down to the bend of his hip where Derek likes it, feels his fangs prick at his hipbone before he pushes his wet face against Stiles’ skin and takes hold of himself.

Derek works himself in short, fast strokes, squirming between Stiles’ knees, trying to get closer, to crawl right into his lap, maybe. Stiles rubs his hand in a big circle across Derek’s back and talks to him, telling him how good he looks like this, and how much he loves him. It’s over pretty fast.

"Thank you, Stiles," Derek says, small, right before he comes, his whole body jerking with it, his choked cry stifled by Stiles’ belly.

"Thank _you_ ," Stiles whispers back, bending down to kiss the top of Derek’s head, and he means it.


	12. Wolfspringa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek Hale gets sent to live with the Stilinskis. Underage.

  


I look at this and I think I would like a story where it’s tradition that when a werewolf turns 18 they have to go through a coming of age thing where they are magically depowered and go live with a human family for a year so they know what it’s like to not have werewolf powers, and also so they appreciate how fragile and squishy humans are. I guess this is like the werewolf version of rumspringa? So in a universe where the Hales are still alive, and werewolves are a known thing, Derek has to go live with the Stilinskis for his wolfspringa year, and let’s for the sake of smoochies say Stiles is 16 at the time.

The year starts after school lets out, Derek has graduated, and he gets a summer job working for a road construction crew and it’s HORRIBLE. He learns about dehydration and pulled muscles and sunburn and blisters on your hands, and then when he isn’t at work he learns about paper cuts and ice cream headaches and heartburn and a bone-deep exhaustion that never, ever goes away and he’s just ALL AROUND MISERABLE. Meanwhile, Stiles has this cushy job working the admission gate at the city pool, where he sits in a shaded booth and looks at hot guys and girls in their swimsuits all day, and gets to swim for free when he’s off duty. Also the girl who runs the snack stand has a crush on him and gives him free ice cream sandwiches.

So Stiles comes home all chill and relaxed and full of free ice cream and then plays lacrosse with his friends and stays up late playing video games and stuff. He has SO MUCH ENERGY. Derek doesn’t understand how Stiles, who has to make do with a shitty human body (Derek HATES his human body), has so much energy. Derek is mortally tired and everything hurts and he has heat stroke twice in a month, and he has no motivation to go anywhere or do anything, and Stiles kind of ignores him after the third time Derek bites his head off just for talking to him.

At first Stiles is sort of amazed that this guy is living in his house. This guy, who is so amazingly good-looking it gives Stiles actual pain somewhere in his stomach to look at him. THIS GUY IS A REAL GUY AND HE LIVES IN STILES’ HOUSE. But then Stiles slowly realizes that this guy hates other people and can’t be bothered to actually interact with someone as plain and normal and human as Stiles Stilinski, and the amazement wears off and after a while Derek is just this really smoking hot grouchy hermit who sleeps in the guest room.

But one Saturday they’re in the kitchen at the same time and Stiles says, “You should put some Neosporin on that,” because Derek has a cut on his arm that looks like it’s infected. Even when Derek balks, Stiles just gets it and makes Derek let him smear it on and cover it with some gauze and tape. Derek actually…looks kind of grateful for it, once it’s done, and thanks Stiles really softy while looking up at him through his eyelashes. His eyes are…really pretty. And they make Stiles feel funny.

After that Stiles starts paying attention, and realizes Derek is always hurting and tired and in general hating everything about this wolfspringa year, because he knows nothing at all about what kind of maintenance a human body requires. Stiles is happy to help, because it makes him less grouchy, and also he likes it when Derek looks up at him through his eyelashes.

Derek lets Stiles take care of him, because as Peter Hale told us, it is natural for wolves to take care of other wolves when they are injured and therefore it is natural for Derek to let Stiles take care of him, he’s helpless against it. Stiles is really good about digging his thumb into this magic spot on Derek’s hand that makes his headaches go away, and cheerfully presses a tennis ball on that knot next to Derek’s right shoulder blade for as long as Derek wants him to. Stiles is actually kind of nice for such a sarcastic little shit, and he seems to like Derek and has forgiven him for being mean to him in the beginning, which Derek appreciates.

Stiles starts staying home a lot more, because Derek is usually too tired and sore to do much of anything, and he’s kind of lonely, because one of the conditions of wolfspringa is no contact with your pack, which teaches you how important they are and to never take them for granted. Even if he still had a pack, though, Derek would probably want to spend time with Stiles. He’s hilarious, and makes really good popcorn.

After a few more weeks Derek slowly gets used to being human, and grows callouses on his hands, and his depowered muscles are big and strong so eventually they get used to the work. He learns to take care of himself, to drink water, to get enough sleep, to eat things that aren’t donuts and Kool-Aid. He plays video games with Stiles one night, and they go to a movie another night. They get to know each other.

And maybe there’s some funny stuff, like Stiles sprays Derek with the hose while they’re washing Derek’s car, and Derek chases him and he is shocked when he can’t actually catch Stiles, because Stiles has those long, long legs and Finstock is a taskmaster about fitness. There’s also the time Derek tries to move the washing machine because Stiles somehow dropped his wallet behind it, and then stands there looking surprised when he can’t just pick it up like it’s nothing. Also, Stiles keeps scaring the crap out of him just by walking into the room, because Derek can’t fucking hear anything, everything is a surprise now if he’s reading or doing something else that diverts his attention. Stiles, of course, is endlessly amused by this, and he says he’s not doing it on purpose, but Derek can’t even tell if Stiles is lying so he gives him a noogie every time just in case.

So a bunch of stuff like that happens, and eventually Stiles invites Derek out to a party, a bunch of human kids Derek doesn’t know, but he goes anyway. That’s where he learns what it feels like to get drunk, and what it feels like to kiss a boy.

They kiss a bunch over the next month or so, and the sheriff probably knows what’s going on but he’s turning a blind eye, leaving them alone in the house like they’re not going to be all over each other the second the door closes behind him. That’s when Derek learns how Stiles likes to be touched, and the sounds he makes when he feels good.

The bed in the guest room where Derek sleeps is a double, more than enough room for the two of them, and as the summer winds down, Stiles getting ready to go back to school, Derek getting ready to go to college, they spend a lot of time on that bed, naked and laughing and happy, and Derek learns to love his human body, learns to love it as much as Stiles does.


	13. We Have Ways of Making You Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek gets dosed with truth serum. (Torture, confessions under the influence.)

[Inspired by this pretty gif by janeconnor.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/73468079452/we-have-ways-of-making-you-talk-hiiiiiii)

"Hiiiiiii," Derek said happily, when Isaac broke down the door, and he and Scott and Stiles burst into the room. "I'm chained up!"

Stiles looked at Scott, who looked at him, and then they both looked at Isaac, who was too taken aback to even blink, apparently. Derek was indeed chained up. Again. 

That wasn't the surprising part. 

"I'm really glad to see you," Derek said, rolling his head against the fence. He was barefoot and dirty, and he was slurring his words just enough to be noticeable, but there was no blood anywhere Stiles could see. "Are you glad to see me?"

"We're, um, yes?" Scott said, like he wasn't entirely sure.

"We're really, really glad to see you," Isaac said, in the tone of voice you'd use to talk to a little kid. "Aren't we, guys?" He shot threatening looks at Stiles and Scott.

"Right, yes," Stiles said immediately as Scott said, "Absolutely! Super glad!"

"Are you all right?" Isaac asked Derek, taking a wary step closer. They were all off balance now, unsure of what they'd walked into.

"No," Derek said petulantly. "I want to hug you but I can't." He frowned and tugged against the manacles on his wrists. "You're my best friends in the whole world."

"I think he's okay," Scott said after a long, awkward silence. "Except. You know." He made a vague gesture at Derek, who didn't seem to be _hurt_ , specifically. Just very...un-Derek-like.

"We should—we don't have much time," Stiles reminded everyone, but it still took a few more seconds for someone to move, all of them completely thrown by the way Derek was acting. They'd been prepared for gore, for carnage, maybe for a dead body. They hadn't been prepared for _this._

"I was hoping Stiles would come," Derek said dreamily, eyes fixed on him while Scott started on the manacles with a bolt cutter. 

"And here I am," Stiles said unnecessarily, throwing his hands out in a little flourish before he awkwardly shoved them in his jacket pockets. Derek's dirty, beaming face was freaking him out.

The last manacle came apart under the bolt cutters and hit the floor next to Derek's bare toes with a loud clang. "I care about you guys so much," Derek gushed, slumping over into Isaac's arms.

"This is way worse than I imagined," Scott said under his breath, shaking his head.

"Guys, I'm serious. We gotta go," Stiles said. They'd already been here too long, and every little noise was making him jump. 

"Stiles says we gotta go," Derek muttered. "Stiles is always bossing me around _and I like it._ "

"Oh my God," Stiles said faintly, into the shocked silence. Isaac looked like he was trying not to laugh. Scott was looking at Derek like he'd grown a second head.

"You are so stoned, man," Isaac said, shaking his head, and Derek promptly launched into another repetition of _I'm so glad you guys are here._ Isaac propped him up while Scott slipped his shirt over his head, both of them humming agreement to every single one of Derek's declarations of love and happiness.

There were some syringes, most of them empty, one of them still full of a cloudy yellow liquid, scattered on the floor. Stiles grabbed the full one and carefully put it in his pocket while Scott and Isaac helped Derek into his shoes.

When they finally got him out to the Cruiser, it looked like Derek was going to get in willingly enough, until he saw Stiles head for the driver's seat, at which point he balked, bracing his arms against the door frame like a cat trying to avoid the kitty carrier. "I want you to ride in the back with me, Stiles," he said, refusing to budge. "I missed you."

Stiles paused, hand on the door handle, and wondered how this shit kept happening to him. He wanted to bang his head against the Cruiser's window, but that wouldn't help anyone. "Please stop talking," he begged Derek. "Just get in, okay?"

Derek glared at him, and for one reassuring second it was like the real Derek was back, until he said, "You're hurting my feelings." 

"Jesus Christ," Scott said, with feeling.

"Fine!" Stiles hissed, because shouting was a bad idea when you were escaping with someone's prisoner. He marched around to the back door and handed the keys to Scott. 

Appeased, Derek caught the front of Stiles jacket in his grubby hand and held on as he got in, practically dragging Stiles with him. As soon as Stiles' butt hit the seat, Derek was right there, pressed against his side, trying to burrow under his arm.

"You need to put your seat belt on," Stiles protested, shoving at him to no avail. "Safety first!" 

Derek scoffed at the idea of a seatbelt as he wormed a little closer and put his head under Stiles' chin. "I want to sit by you," he said stubbornly. "You smell nice. I like you. I want to touch you. I think about you when I—"

"Okay!" Stiles yelled, slapping his hand down over Derek's mouth before he could finish that horrifying sentence. "I think I get it."

Stiles fully expected to get bitten, but instead Derek gently took his hand and tugged it away. He didn't let go, just rubbed his thumb over the knob of Stiles' wrist as he lifted his head so he could stare into Stiles' eyes. Isaac was right--Derek was completely stoned. His eyes were almost all pupil. 

"Do you?" Derek asked Stiles earnestly. "Do you really get it?"

"I think he's gonna get it," Isaac snorted up front.

"You're not helping," Scott gritted out as he started the engine. He didn't look happy to suddenly be the getaway driver, but tough luck. Stiles was the one dealing with the real problem here.

Derek was still waiting for an answer, with wide eyes and a painfully open expression on his face. Stiles swallowed and said, "Can we—if I promise we'll talk about this once we're alone will you stop? Will you please stop?" Derek was twining their fingers together, Stiles realized, aghast. "Just wait until we're alone, okay?"

"Okay," Derek said, and put his head back on Stiles' shoulder and didn't say another word until they got to his place.

He held Stiles' hand the whole time.


	14. Contested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got you guys something really romantic for Valentine’s Day: Divorce Attorney Derek Hale. (This has a happy ending, I promise.)

Stiles Stilinski walks into Derek’s office at Lahey & Hale at 7:30pm on Friday night, slumps into the visitor’s chair like a moody teenager and says, “I need an attorney. I’m filing for divorce.”

This is the last thing Derek needs today. He’s well into his 84th hour of work this week, has a coffee stain on his tie, and probably four more hours of work left before he can go home. He is tired.

He keeps all of that to himself, though. He picks up his pen and writes **DIVORCE** on the legal pad in front of him. His cellphone vibrates next to his elbow, but he ignores it. This is more important, at least to Stiles.

"That’s a big step," Derek tells Stiles, probably unnecessarily. "Are you sure your marriage isn’t salvageable?" It isn’t unheard of for someone to sit in that chair and say they want out, and then a week later call him and say they’ve changed their mind. Sometimes just the act of talking to a divorce attorney makes people realize how much they _don’t_ want a divorce.

Stiles glances at the framed photos behind Derek’s desk and then quickly looks away. They’re the kind of happy family photos every lawyer has in their office. That’s probably a little painful for Stiles right now.

"Pretty sure," he says, shrugging. "We’ve tried everything. We even spent a ton of money on this big vacation, and things were mostly good while we were there, and for about a week after, and then…" He shrugs again. "Things just went back to the way they were before."

Derek makes a sympathetic noise and writes **LONG-TERM ISSUES** on his legal pad.

"I know some of it’s my fault," Stiles goes on. "I take my share of the blame. And I’ve tried to explain that, but I feel like everything I say gets misinterpreted and just makes things worse."

 **POOR COMMUNICATION** Derek adds to the list in front of him while Stiles retreats into silence, chewing on his thumbnail. Derek’s seen this hundreds of times in his practice, and there’s no one way people act in this situation. Some people are weepy messes, some barely functioning, some exquisitely angry. Stiles looks resigned. He looks defeated.

"It’s rarely the fault of just one party," Derek assures him. Sometimes people do horrible things, are just horrible people, and the other person is better off getting as far away as possible. But most of the divorces he sees are the result of two people who simply can’t get along anymore.

"I know, I know," Stiles says, running his hands through his hair. He gusts out a breath and slouches down a little more. "We both have high stress jobs and long hours, and it’s hard, you know? I’ve got enough seniority with the department now that I have a pretty steady schedule, but some days I come home and I just…don’t want to deal with anything. And I’m not the only one who feels that way. So things just fester. It’s stupid. I don’t know why we can’t just—"

He scrubs a hand over his face and doesn’t finish the sentence, but Derek knows how it works, and how deceptively simple it sounds. Just talk, just deal with problems, just get along, just love each other. It’s not simple. Marriage is a skillset that can only be built with practice. There is no _just_.

"Finding a balance can be difficult," Derek agrees. He adds **LACK OF TIME** to his notes, and then glances up at Stiles, who’s focused on Derek’s legal pad. He’s gorgeous, Derek thinks idly to himself. Even when he’s talking about giving up on the love of his life, sporting what looks like a bad case of bed head, wearing a faded T-shirt with a rip in the collar, he’s the most attractive thing Derek’s seen all day. Only a fool would let him go.

"Scheduling time for each other can help—" Derek offers, but Stiles cuts him off with a sarcastic snort.

"Last time we did that I got called in for a hostage situation at a nightclub. The time before that I ended up eating dinner by myself at our favorite restaurant because a blizzard cancelled all the flights out of Denver." He smiles wryly at Derek. "Pretty romantic night."

Derek winces and jots down **OUTSIDE PRESSURES**.

Stiles isn’t done. “And when we do spend time together we don’t really talk, unless we’re arguing. We sit in the same room together and watch TV, or stare at our phones. It’s like we aren’t even a couple anymore. We haven’t…” He hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to share this detail, then barrels on. “We haven’t had sex in a while. We’re barely in the bed at the same time, most nights.”

Derek adds **LACK OF INTIMACY** to his list.

"It’s become this big…thing," Stiles says, sketching a circle in the air with his hand. "And I don’t know how to get around it anymore, back to who we were. When we went out for dinner with another couple a few weeks ago, you could see they were happy. They were teasing each other and touching each other and." He glances up at Derek, clears his throat. His next words come out so quietly Derek barely hears them, but they’re no less damning for their lack of volume. "And I felt like I was sitting next to a stranger."

This is getting harder to listen to by the minute. Derek writes down **FEELINGS OF ISOLATION**.

"Counseling?" Derek suggests. The last ditch effort of many a struggling couple.

"I wanted to," Stiles says, picking at the seam of his pants. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping. "It was a bust. We went one time, and I was the only one who talked."

The last question is the toughest. “Is there a third party involved?” Derek asks. He hates that he has to ask, but he needs to know. He writes **INFIDELITY?** on his pad.

"No," Stiles says right away, shaking his head. His eyes flick up to Derek and then away. "At least not on my end. I don’t think—I’m pretty sure there’s no one else. For either of us. It’s more like we’ve just…drifted apart."

Derek nods and draws two thick lines through **INFIDELITY**. That’s something, at least.

"So," Stiles says, exhaling shakily. "Here I am." He stares bleakly at Derek, suddenly looking small and broken, like someone who has had something vital to his happiness stripped away from him.

Derek finds, to his surprise, that he feels a little broken as well.

He sets down his pen and looks at the notes in front of him. It’s a damning list, an outline for a failed marriage, for a love slowly withering on the vine from neglect. It’s a list that would indicate Stiles is making the right decision.

Even so, Derek tears the sheet from the pad and crumples it into a ball, then tosses it in the trash can behind him. Taking a deep breath, he meets Stiles eyes across the desk.

"You’ve certainly built a good case for dissolution," he says evenly. "Unfortunately, I can’t represent you. Nor can I refer you to another attorney, because I know for a fact that your husband does not want a divorce.”

Stiles doesn’t move. He’s still and quiet like Derek seldom sees him, fingers resting slack in his lap. For the first time since he sat down, Derek sees hope in his eyes.

Derek gets up and walks around the desk, so he can lean down over Stiles, hands braced on the arms of the chair. “Stiles,” he says softly. He rests his forehead against Stiles’ and closes his eyes as Stiles’ hand comes up to tremble against his jaw. “I don’t want a divorce.”

**The End**

**This ficlet has been[translated into Italian!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2334773)**


	15. Lucid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU in which soulmates are a thing. If you require a happy ending you should skip this one.

Today I’m in the mood for a soulmates universe where, before they bond, some people have dreams about their soulmate if they’re in proximity to them. It’s rare, but it happens. And in this universe Derek Hale comes back to Beacon Hills (after years away) to take his rightful place in the family business and immediately starts dreaming about his soulmate, which means _his soulmate is here in Beacon Hills._

Even though Derek has a, um, _checkered_ romantic history, this is pretty exciting news, and he tells his mom about it and she tears up and hugs him. (She’d secretly been a little worried Derek was one of the unfortunate few who never connect with their soulmate.) His dad pats his back and hands him a beer. His sisters tease him mercilessly while begging for details. What’s he like? Do you know his name? Have you ever seen him before? No one else in the family dreamt, which leaves Derek feeling both special and a little embarrassed. He tries not to gush too much, but he can’t help bragging a little about attractive he is, and smart, too. He reads a lot, from what Derek can tell.

Knowing there’s someone out there for him changes everything for Derek, who, after the initial thrill wears off, realizes he has some shaping up to do in order to be proper soulmate material. So he devotes himself to the business with a purpose that was lacking before, because when he finally meets Dream Guy he doesn’t want to have to admit he’s coasting through life in a cushy job provided for him by his parents. He gets a new haircut, and buys some new shirts, and puts off his plans to buy a house, because now he has to take someone else’s thoughts and feelings into consideration. He won’t know what Dream Guy considers a dream house until they meet.

And they will meet. Beacon Hills isn’t that big. Even if his soulmate isn’t dreaming about him (even more rare, for both to dream) he knows what Dream Guy looks like. He appears to be a little younger than Derek, maybe college age, with messy hair and mischievous eyes, and dimples. Derek really likes the dimples. The point is, Derek will know him when he sees him, and Derek cannot wait for the day that happens.

Until then, he has the dreams. The dreams look and feel different, not like regular dreams. They’re always silent, and the colors aren’t quite right, and sometimes the scene flickers and jumps, like old home movies from the fifties, but Derek loves them, even when they’re just about them ordinary things, like eating dinner at a restaurant with dim lighting and an overflowing bread basket on the table.

But Derek also dreams about fucking Dream Guy a lot. Like, a worrying number of times, even. Lazy morning sex, quick and dirty mutual handjob sex, slippery shower sex—the variety is encouraging, as is Dream Guy’s enthusiasm. Derek swears he can practically feel it sometimes, if he’s sleeping deeply enough. Dream Guy’s hands in his hair while Derek sucks him off. Dream Guy bracing his shoulders against the bed and lifting his hips to get fucked, or rocking on his hands and knees, shoving back onto Derek’s cock. Derek prefers to bottom himself, but he figures he can deal with it. This is his soulmate. They’ll figure it out.

One night he dreams of being in a lonely bed, staring at an empty pillow (it’s never his bed, never his pillow, in the dreams—Derek assumes it must be Dream Guy’s bedroom) and when he wakes up he spends hours in a low-level panic that this means his soulmate is dead, but two nights later Dream Guy is back. It’s another sex dream, and it’s wonderful—slow and tender, with lots of soft kisses. Derek wakes up profoundly relieved, and jerks himself to an amazing orgasm.

Another time he falls asleep on the couch during the football game and dreams they’re in some coffee shop with witty signs and mismatched mugs, cuddled close at the table, and Dream Guy gazes at him fondly, and nuzzles his ear, and Derek wakes up aching with how bad he wants to meet him, to know him. He grows increasingly frustrated with not being able to hear anything in the dreams, know what Dream Guy’s voice sounds like, hear the noises he makes in bed, and his laugh.

It goes on for months. Meanwhile, Derek’s getting more and more attached to Dream Guy, feels overwhelmed with unmistakeable emotion while he’s dreaming and, eventually, while he’s awake. Derek begins to wonder if that’s the point of the dreams—to make Derek start falling in love with Dream Guy before he even meets him. It’s an unsettling thought, that he’s so far gone on someone he’s never met, someone whose name he has yet to learn. Derek feels like he’s balanced at the top of a roller coaster, waiting to plunge to the bottom, both terrified and exhilarated. The anticipation is killing him.

His mother says she’s never seen him happier.

~*~

He finally sees Dream Guy at Target, of all places, staring at the Clif Bar selection. Derek rounds the fabric softener display and freezes instantly, basket full of hair gel and batteries dangling from his hand.

It’s terrible timing. Derek got up this morning and threw on some old workout clothes before going for a run, and then helped his dad with some yard stuff, trimming bushes and digging up rocks to make room for a new flowerbed. He’s dirty, and probably smells terrible. He thinks longingly of those new shirts he bought, the new haircut that’s hidden beneath a sweaty baseball hat. He curses his luck, but he’s still excited, because it won’t matter. They’re _soulmates._

And it definitely _is_ his soulmate. It’s him. Derek would know him anywhere, even though he has never heard his voice, touched his skin. He knows every inch of his body by now, from the shallow dip of his navel to the fuzzy hair on his legs to the thin scar on his left shoulder. None of that’s visible right now, of course. Dream Guy is wearing a wrinkled T-shirt, sleeves stretching attractively over his round biceps, and chewing on his lip as he mulls his choices. Derek stares, entranced.

Before he can say anything—or even decide _what_ to say, because in the books and movies no one ever has to say anything—Dream Guy finally makes his pick, solemnly choosing two different flavors. Then he turns and walks toward Derek.

This is it, this is the moment, this is when their eyes will meet and his soulmate will recognize him, right here in Target. They’re going to fall into each other’s arms and—

“‘Scuse me,” Dream Guy says, giving Derek a quick, insincere smile as he sidles past, and he _walks away_ , leaving Derek standing there stunned.

He wonders for a moment if he jumped the gun, latched onto the wrong person in his eagerness, but no. Derek’s been dreaming about this man, and dream-fucking this man, for six months. He would recognize him anywhere—the shock of black hair, the bright blue eyes, the scruffy face. It’s never dawned on Derek until now how similar they look, that they could probably pass for brothers. That was him. That was Dream Guy.

But not only did Dream Guy not recognize him, or appear to feel the connection, Derek didn’t feel the connection, either. He felt nothing. Nothing.

Nothing but crushing disappointment, anyway.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a magical moment, the instant where the biggest, most important piece of Derek’s future clicked into place. This is what he’s been waiting for—yearning for—for months now. All of Derek’s hopes and plans collapse in an instant, and he wonders what happened, was it something he did, or…

Once he feels like he can make his feet move again, Derek abandons his basket on the floor of the Clif Bar aisle—his mother would kill him for it if she knew—and walks straight out of the store. He’s almost to his car when he sees Dream Guy, pushing a cart with a big box in it, the kind assemble-it-yourself bookcases come in, rattling over the pavement. And then things get worse, so much worse, because there’s _another_ guy, walking next to Dream Guy, and there’s no doubt at all they’re together, based on how close they’re walking, the way they’re looking at each other. Derek can tell they’re a couple even before Dream Guy leans over and kisses the other guy’s ear as they trundle through the parking lot.

When Derek was sixteen he was shot by a hunter, took an arrow in the shoulder, and it wasn’t nearly as shocking and painful as this, certainly wasn’t nearly as devastating. Derek had felt like he’d _survive_ the arrow, at least.

The other guy is young, too. Taller, not as bulky as Dream Guy, but not scrawny, either. He’s wearing an Iron Man t-shirt, and one of his shoes is untied. He should be just an ordinary college kid, with ordinary brown hair, but there’s nothing ordinary about him. Derek knows that even from this distance. He’s just _alive_ in a way everyone else around them isn’t, bright and full of smiles, laughing as he slings an arm over Dream Guy’s shoulders, and his face is…he’s really attractive. His features are almost delicate, pretty mouth and high cheekbones, but his hands and his shoulders speak to the wiry kind of strength that can surprise you, if you don’t know better. The kind of guy who could fuck you into the mattress like it’s nothing, make you come so hard you forget your own name.

Derek looks at them, and feels like the ground is tilting beneath his feet, like someone’s twisting his heart in their fist, like he might start running toward them if he doesn’t keep himself under control.

They don’t even notice he’s there.

Derek gets in his car and leans his forehead against the steering wheel and swallows down the cold wave of anguish that closes his throat so tight he can’t swallow. His hands grip the wheel and release, grip and release, and he squeezes his eyes shut as realization sinks in.

They weren’t just dreams. They were a—a fucking mind meld, or some kind of shared experience phenomenon.

And they weren’t _about_ his soulmate. They were from his soulmate’s point of view.

**The End**

(You can find a happier ending by arthurisarthur [over here on Tumblr.](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/99681228791/lucid))


	16. Losing End of a Wishbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt an anon sent to Otter: _They meet because they are both dating the same person._ There's no betrayal or cheating in this story, and it has a happy ending. The pairings are Jennifer/Derek, Jennifer/Stiles, and Jennifer/Kali.

Jennifer is _perfect_.

Stiles meets her at a self-defense workshop where he’s running the pepper spray certification class. She’s one of the several volunteers from a local dojo who are teaching people some basic self-defense moves, and definitely the prettiest one of the group. Stiles talks to her a little between sessions, and they seem to hit it off, so he asks her out for coffee at the end of the day when everyone’s packing up to leave.

They walk over to a diner Stiles stops at sometimes when it’s late and nothing else in Beacon Hills is open. It’s popular with cops, and the waitresses all know him, and sometimes give him free pie.

It’s the best coffee date Stiles has been on in forever. They talk about the workshop a little bit, and who did best in which part of it, which leads to a discussion about their favorite ways to disarm and incapacitate; Stiles doesn’t mix it up with armed criminals as much as he used to, now that he’s made detective, but he’s got a few good stories. The date really takes a turn, though, when Stiles gets Jennifer to talk about herself. She’s sweet and a little awkward, and owns a bookstore, and has read _The Iliad_ in Greek and that’s it, Stiles is a goner.

He’s always had a weakness for the nerdy ones.

~*~

Jennifer is _perfect_.

Derek meets her when she donates a whole bunch of books to the children’s library. He helps her carry the boxes in from her car, and she helps him unpack everything, smiling and patting him on the arm when he thanks her over and over again. Some of the books have been on his wish list for ages, but the Beacon Hills library doesn’t have the hugest budget. Before Derek knows it, the books are long unpacked and it’s been hours and they’re still talking about which authors are their favorites and which books are over-rated, so he screws up his courage and asks if she wants to go out for coffee sometime.

She shows up for their coffee date looking flushed and sweaty, a fresh mouse purpling the skin under her eye. She just came from the dojo, she explains, and shows him a video on her phone, some kind of tournament she was in a few months ago. Derek watches her absolutely dominate a guy twice her size and that’s it, he’s a goner.

He’s always had a weakness for the dangerous ones.

~*~

Today is _the day_.

It’s Valentine’s Day, the official holiday of love, and Stiles has a plan. It’s been going really well for him and Jennifer, so he thinks a little surprise romance is in order. Things have been pretty low-key between them up until now, but he’s really into her and he’s sure she’s really into him, and the timing is right to move beyond casual. He’s ready to start seeing each other more than once or twice a week. He’s ready to take a shot at turning this into a relationship, put a label on it and see where it leads.

He goes to the bakery down the block from Jennifer’s store and gets two cupcakes. Salted caramel, because it’s their favorite. They’re so in synch. It’s meant to be.

~*~

Today is _the day_.

Derek’s been really careful about taking it slow with Jennifer, but things have been going so well he’s actually starting to get a little worried she might take his cautious nature the wrong way. He doesn’t want her to think he’s not interested in something more serious, so he’s thought about it and decided he’s going to surprise Jennifer with a nice Valentine’s Day dinner and bring up the idea of being exclusive. He’s not dating anyone else, and doesn’t know if she is, so it might be largely symbolic, but it’s still making him a little anxious. His last relationship didn’t end well, but he thinks he and Jennifer are a good match. Baby steps, but he’s willing to take them.

On impulse, he ducks into the candy shop down the block from Jennifer’s bookstore and buys a little red box of chocolates. Salted caramels. They both love them.

~*~

There’s a guy hanging around outside the bookstore when Stiles walks up, and Stiles is instantly on alert, in case the dude’s shady, but then he spies the little red box in his hand, with a shiny bow on top of it, just as the guy looks over at him, eyes immediately going to the pink pastry box Stiles is carrying. They exchange wry smiles—it’s Valentine’s Day, you gotta step up, every guy knows this—and then Jennifer comes out of the shop, locking the door behind her, and Stiles takes a step toward her at the same time the other guy takes a step toward her and Stiles thinks, _Wait a minute…_

~*~

"Well, this is awkward," Jennifer says, when they all realize what’s happening. She laughs nervously while Derek stands there like an idiot next to the guy with the pink box. "Hi, Derek," she says. Then she looks at the other guy and says, "Hi, Stiles." What the hell kind of a name is Stiles?

Stiles looks over at Derek, nods, and says, unbelievably, “Nice to meet you.”

"Not really," Derek says. He looks back at Jennifer. "So I guess we aren’t exclusive," he guesses.

Stiles snorts.

"I was actually just going to talk to you about that," Jennifer says, chewing on her lower lip, and Derek feels a brief flare of hope. Then Jennifer looks at Stiles and says, "Both of you."

"Well, I guess this is a good thing, in a way," Stiles says, chipper, and Derek begins to wonder if he has actual brain damage. "Now we’re all here and you can just tell us which one of us you choose." He looks over at Derek and smiles.

This is horrible. Everything is horrible. Derek feels like he might throw up.

~*~

"Listen, I really like both of you a lot," Jennifer says sweetly. "We’ve had so much fun together, and you’re both great guys, and the sex is _amazing..._ ”

Stiles indulges in a moment of vanity, followed by a moment where he thinks she’s going to suggest a threesome. He looks over at Derek and catches Derek looking at him. Derek looks away, and a pink flush washes over his cheeks. Derek is totally thinking the same thing.

Stiles isn’t exactly opposed to a threesome, in theory. He’s never done it, but Derek’s attractive, to put it mildly. Stiles wouldn’t mind getting some of that, but the whole point of this had been about being Jennifer’s one and only, so that seems counter-productive. Derek’s neck is starting to turn red now, and he reaches up and rubs it. He’s watching Stiles out of the corner of his eye, Stiles can tell. Maybe just one threesome wouldn’t hurt.

Stiles tunes back in to what Jennifer is saying. “…and I’ve had a great time these last few weeks, and I’m so happy I got to know both of you. I want you to know that—”

Jennifer abruptly stops talking as Stiles hears a car pull up to the curb behind him. The engine quits, and a car door opens and closes. Jennifer’s attention is plainly diverted, looking past the two chumps standing here with gifts for her like they’re invisible. Stiles hears footsteps and Jennifer’s face lights up, and she smiles, the kind of smile she’s never smiled for Stiles.

Stiles turns around to see whatever it is Jennifer is seeing. Walking toward them is a woman. A really beautiful woman.

~*~

"This isn’t really how I was expecting this night to go," Stiles says unnecessarily, as Jennifer gets in the car with Kali and drives away, leaving Derek and Stiles standing on the sidewalk, rejected. Very nicely but very firmly rejected.

"Same here," Derek says. There’s a bench under the bookshop window, and Derek walks over and sits on it. He needs a moment to recover from these last few excruciating minutes of his life. It’s not even so much that he just got dumped—it was the whole painful scene, right here on the sidewalk, in public. This is so embarrassing. Humiliating. He still feels a little bit like throwing up.

"Hey, at least we’ve got a good story to tell," Stiles says. He looks almost pleased about it as he sits down next to Derek. He’s still holding the pink box. "I mean, this has never happened to me before." He looks over at Derek. "How ‘bout you?"

"Absolutely not," Derek says. He’s not nearly as cheerful about it as Stiles.

"I don’t know what it is about me and women," Stiles muses, tilting his head back and looking up at the moth fluttering around the streetlight. "My luck with them seems to be way worse than with guys for some reason."

"Yeah. Me, too," Derek admits. When Kate broke up with him she threw all of his favorite books in the fire pit in the backyard.

Stiles drops his gaze and gives Derek an assessing look. Maybe he’s wondering what Jennifer saw in him in the first place. He opens the pink box, proffers it. “Cupcake?”

Derek looks down at the box, two elaborately frosted cupcakes nestled inside, but he’s distracted by Stiles’ fingers, how large his hand is, the knob of bone on the outside of his wrist. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, exposing the slope of muscle in his forearm, and his shoulders are nice and square, strong.

That’s when Derek notices Stiles is wearing a shoulder holster. He’s carrying a gun. Derek’s stomach does a little swoop.

~*~

"Oh," Derek says, when he takes a bite of his cupcake. "Salted caramel is my favorite."

"Yeah?" Stiles says, happily surprised. "Mine, too." Neither of them mention Jennifer’s preferences.

They don’t say much while they eat the cupcakes, watching the people pass by on the sidewalk. As Stiles is licking the frosting off his fingers, he looks over and catches Derek staring at him. His cheekbones are a thing of beauty.

Derek clears his throat and picks up the red box still resting in his lap. “Might as well eat these, too,” he says as he opens it. It’s got four chocolates in it. “Salted caramels,” he says, smirking as he offers one to Stiles. His shirt sleeves are just a tad too tight in the upper arm, betraying the fact that Derek likes to work out.

Stiles takes one of the chocolates, eyes nearly rolling back in his head when he bites into it. It’s amazing.

"What do you do? For a living, I mean?" Stiles asks, as he chews.

"Children’s librarian," Derek says, and that’s when Stiles finally _really_ looks at him, beyond the strikingly handsome face and bulging biceps. He takes in the whole package of Derek, from the heavy-framed glasses to the messenger bag slung across the front of his sweater vest. Derek is an adorable bookworm. A tall, muscular, adorable bookworm.

"Hey," Stiles says, because what the hell. It’s not like this night can get much weirder. "I know this is super weird timing, but do you wanna go get some coffee?"

~*~

Stiles is _perfect_.

~*~

Derek is _perfect_.

~*~

A little over a year later, Jennifer and Kali get an invitation to the wedding.

**The End**


	17. Nesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for Sterek + cohabitation.

Oh yes! I enjoy thinking about Derek and Stiles moving in together years down the road, Derek out of the loft and Stiles out of his first post-college apartment. They rent a cute little house with a two car garage and a shed out back with a lawnmower in it. Stiles has a job (let’s make him a deputy, because I like him being a deputy) and Derek volunteers a lot at different places but doesn’t have a _job_ job. Anyway, they move in to this rented house, all Stiles’ stuff that’s, like, cheap single dude purchases and hand-me-downs from his dad, and all of Derek’s stuff that he’s found on the curb over the years. They buy a good bed, a nice big new bed, and that’s it.

One day Derek’s making his morning smoothie and he realizes all their knives kind of suck, a mis-matched jumble with warped wooden handles, and most of the tips are broken off and Derek is 99% sure the big one is the same one Stiles once used to stab a succubus in the face. He spends the morning online looking up knives and reading reviews and stuff, and he’s about to order a whole set off Amazon when he reads something about “handle heft” and he realizes he probably needs to hold a knife in his hand before he buys it, handle heft is obviously important, so he deletes the knives from his cart and wanders over to the mall, and finds himself in Williams-Sonoma.

And you know what happens. When he’s in there he realizes there is SO MUCH STUFF they don’t have. They don’t have a vegetable peeler, or an apple corer, or a napkin holder. THIS CANNOT STAND. He spends six hundred bucks. When he gets home and is putting it all away, he notices they don’t have any aluminum foil either, which leads to the bags and containers aisle at Safeway, and eventually the cupboard is full of foil and wax paper and that plastic wrap that sticks to things when you press on it, which Derek loves and they go through like a box a week. Six different shapes and sizes of disposable Glad containers. Those stretchy shower cap things to put over bowls.

After that things get serious, and he buys a toaster to replace the one that doesn’t always pop up, and then a Food Saver. They can save a lot of money by freezing food. (They don’t have to worry about money, but why be wasteful?) One night while they’re eating dinner he asks Stiles what he thinks, white microwave or black microwave? White matches the appliances in the kitchen, but…

And Stiles shrugs and says he doesn’t care. He says Derek should buy what he wants, because he’s doing a good job getting stuff and it’s his money, so Derek gets the black one. The next day he returns it and gets the white one instead. Goes with the appliances.

Now that he has Stiles’ go ahead, he methodically works his way through the house. A dining room table and chairs, because that room’s actually empty. They need a china cabinet in there, obviously, and then things to put in the china cabinet. He gets rid of all their crappy dishes and buys new ones, tasteful and understated. A set of pots and pans, matching towels and rugs for the bathroom. Oh my God there’s so much to be bought for a bathroom! Toothbrush holder and toilet brush and a foaming soap dispenser. He fills the new bathroom cabinet with stuff he thinks Stiles might need like ibuprofen and Pepto-Bismol and cough medicine.

By then summer is starting to fade, so he focuses on the backyard briefly when he sees a hammock for sale, and since it’s end-of-season clearance time, over the course of that week he also buys a gas grill and a patio table with an umbrella and four matching chairs. A little plug-in water fountain. A bird bath.

That’s just the beginning! There is so much to buy, and so many places to buy from! He discovers Chef’s Catalog and Frontgate and the joys of Rite-Aid at 11pm on a Saturday night. Ballard Designs, The Container Store, Crate and Barrel. Overstock.com oh God he nearly has to stop and put his head between his knees when he discovers overstock.com.

~*~

At first Stiles is grateful Derek’s taking care of all that stuff because Stiles isn’t the type and he works long hours. He also finds it kind of funny, watching the way Derek agonizes over which area rug fits the living room best, and tells Scott that Derek is nesting, but in private he gets a little teary when he thinks about Derek Hale and all the shitty places he’s lived in the last fifteen years, and how he’s so determined to have a real house now and all the things that go in a house. But then Derek just keeps going, filling room after room with things Stiles doesn’t know they needed, and he never asks Stiles’ opinion on any of them. Then Stiles comes home one night and their couch is gone—the shitty blue velour thing where Stiles blew Derek for the first time, where they fell asleep cuddled together the first time. In its place is a smaller couch they can’t really fit on together comfortably, and it has big loose pillow cushions that hurt Stiles’ back. Two days later the coffee table is gone, swapped out for a newer one, then the bookshelf Stiles literally BLED putting together back when he lived with Scott.

That’s the point where Stiles doesn’t think it’s funny anymore, and he’s having a harder and harder time remembering he’s supposed to be happy for Derek, because every time he comes home he feels less like he’s coming home to their house. It’s _Derek’s_ house now. Everything in it was chosen by Derek, with no input from Stiles and yeah, he said a while back he didn’t care but that was about the fucking _microwave_. This is like…everything. He didn’t realize Derek was going to furnish the entire house without his input.

One morning he’s cranky because he only got a few hours of sleep because he was out most of the night on a bad semi overturn/chemical spill and when he got home there was a new table next to his side of the bed. Derek had carefully transferred all of Stiles’ things, even the stupid stuff that was actually garbage, like a ticket stub from a crappy movie they went to see a few months ago. But it still made Stiles desperately unhappy to see it there, maybe because the bedroom was the last room, the only room left that hadn’t been touched yet. It has their bed in it, the one thing they picked out and bought together. Maybe Derek’s going to decide he doesn’t like that, either. Maybe he’s going to decide—

Stiles stands in the doorway of the second bedroom—recently converted to an office by Derek—buttoning his uniform shirt, and says, “I’m taking off.”

"Have a good day," Derek says automatically. He doesn’t even look up. It’s barely 6:30am and he’s online already, comparing dehumidifiers or something. Another fucking thing he’ll buy for the house, or buy to replace something they already have, who cares what Stiles thinks or wants, right?

"Try not to throw out all my stuff while I’m gone," Stiles says, and wow, he’s bitter. He’s way more bitter than he realized. "Or what’s left of it," he says.

That gets Derek’s attention. He spins in the chair—the chair he bought when he was in his office redecorating phase—and says, “What?”

Stiles could back down. He could say never mind, he could say he’s just crabby, forget it. He doesn’t. He repeats it, so Derek knows exactly what he said, and exactly what he meant. “While you’re replacing things. Try not to throw out what’s left of my stuff.”

Derek looks like Stiles slapped him. “I’m—”

"Or replace _me_ ,” Stiles says, and oh, there’s the crux of it, Stiles realizes. That’s what hurts the most when he pokes it.

"Whoa," Derek says, getting to his feet so quickly the chair shoots out from behind him and crashes into the (new) desk. The desk Stiles has had since high school is in the basement now, piled with half-empty paint cans. "What’s happening?"

"That’s what I’m wondering," Stiles says, unzipping his pants so he can tuck his shirt in. This is a terrible time to do this. He has to leave for work in seven minutes. They’re going to end up stewing about this all day, unresolved, but he can’t stop. "Do I even live here? Do you even want me to live here?"

"Of course you do. _Of course_ I do,” Derek stammers. “Stiles, what the hell?”

"That’s what I wonder, Derek, every day when I come home and there’s something new here or something else gone. _What the hell?_ " He yanks his zipper up a little too viciously, buttons his pants. "I thought this was supposed to be our house, but it’s all your stuff! You didn’t even ask if I wanted to go look at couches, or what color sheets I wanted, or—"

"You said it was okay!" Derek protests. He looks stunned by how angry Stiles is. He had no idea. "You said—"

"That was the microwave!" Stiles yells, unable to control the volume. Derek winces. "I didn’t care about the microwave or the mixing bowls or the sieve, but then you started replacing everything in the house and it’s like I don’t even live here!"

"Don’t say that," Derek says, low and quick. Stiles can see he’s suddenly terrified, and it feels good. Stiles has been terrified for weeks, watching himself being slowly erased from his own home.

"It’s true," Stiles insists. "It’s like this is your house and you could just up and ask me to move out and the only way you’d be able to tell I was gone would be a few empty dresser drawers."

"I would be miserable if you moved out," Derek says as his face pales. His hands are twitching, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. "I would move out. I wouldn’t be able to live here without you. I wouldn’t be able to stay in our house without—" He swallows. "Without you."

Stiles is silent, his anger rapidly running out of him. He’s always been like this—slow build, quick flare, and then he’s done. Derek is the one who stays mad a long time. He turns and walks into the front hallway where his gun belt is in the closet. He walks back to the office while he buckles it. Derek is standing right where Stiles left him, staring down at his bare feet, face pinched with misery.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “It just feels like you’re making a nice little place for yourself here, and I just happen to live in it. It’s making me feel like shit.” That’s probably what he should have said the first time, instead of being a dick about it. Too late now.

Derek looks up and says, “Stiles, this is _our_ house. I wanted it to be a nice house. With nice stuff. Normal stuff. I wanted to have a nice house _with you_.”

Stiles hooks his thumbs in his belt and stares at Derek. Derek stares back.

"I wanted a bean bag chair," Stiles says finally. He has to leave in three minutes.

"I’ll buy you a bean bag chair," Derek says right away, then realizes he’s missed the point a little and says, "We’ll go buy a bean bag chair."

"I want a lime green beanbag chair," Stiles pushes. He can’t help himself.

"That’s fine," Derek says. He’s lying. He’s probably dying a little inside. Everything in their house is earth tones, calming and easy on the eyes.

That’s good enough, though. Stiles walks toward him, and sees Derek’s shoulders sag with relief as he does it. He grabs onto Stiles, tight, when Stiles gets close enough, and Stiles hugs him back.

Derek drops his head to Stiles’ shoulder and sucks in a shaky breath. Stiles rubs his back a little. Derek usually needs it after they fight. “I don’t _ever_ want you to leave,” Derek says, quiet.

Stiles aches with how much he loves him. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

It’s the closest they’ve come to declarations of forever. They’ve never talked about getting married, carefully skirted around the topic of _buying_ a house when they decided to move in together. That’s probably the root of the problem, Stiles realizes a few months too late. At least they’ve put that doubt to rest now.

They stand there for another minute, as close together as they can get. It’s a weird juxtaposition, Stiles in his heavy boots, gun on his hip, badge on his chest, while Derek’s wearing sweatpants and Stiles’ old police academy T-shirt, his hair all mussed from sleeping on it. It’s always made something feel filled up in Stiles, leaving the house every morning knowing Derek doesn’t have to worry about anything more pressing than what time he has to be at the nursing home to help with bingo. He wants that for Derek always.

"Do you want to get rid of some of this stuff?" Derek asks eventually, sounding a little more like himself, but still hanging on tight. "We can get rid of it. I’ll put it on Craigslist."

"No. Just—maybe ask me about big stuff? Because I hate that couch." He thinks about it. "You can put the couch on Craigslist."

Derek pulls back enough to meet Stiles’ eye. “I’ll do it today,” he promises.

Stiles bites back a smile. “Maybe wait until we get a new one?” Derek almost smiles back, nodding in agreement. “I really gotta go,” Stiles says regretfully. He’s gonna be late.

"I know," Derek says, just as regretfully. He takes Stiles’ face in his hands and kisses his mouth. "The house will be just like you left it when you get home. I promise."

"Well," Stiles says, sneaking in for a second kiss. "Maybe the dirty laundry…"

~*~

Stiles decides to pass on the beanbag chair, and they get a new couch instead. A nice big sectional with stain-resistant fabric and room for both of them to sprawl out, or cuddle together. Derek lets Stiles pick the color and everything. Since it doesn’t come in lime, he chooses a deep forest green instead. Ten minutes after the delivery guy leaves, Stiles blows Derek on it.

**The End**


	18. Body Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Anon, who wanted lactation kink. Also contains mpreg.

The baby slept through the night for the first time when she was thirty-four days old, and Stiles woke up in the morning in a confused panic, chest achingly full, the room way too bright, _where was the baby where was the baby where was—_

The baby was in Derek’s arms, rooting fruitlessly at his hairy chest, trying to find something to latch onto. Stiles took her with shaking hands, his blood still singing with adrenalin, and she opened her little hungry mouth for Stiles’ nipple and just _guzzled_ when she clamped down it. Stiles was so relieved he didn’t even wince. He just blinked down at her, reeling a little from all the different emotions he’d just experienced in thirty seconds, and practically wept over every little snuffling grunt as she gorged, probably ravenous after going all night without.

Derek carefully squeezed in between Stiles and the headboard so he could wrap his arms around both of them and pet the baby’s downy head while he watched her eat, let Stiles feel his strong wolf heart beating against his back. Stiles leaned against him and let Derek take their weight; the familiar warmth of Derek’s body and the familiar coziness of their position already helping him calm down. He didn’t feel awkward about breastfeeding anymore, and Derek never had—he’d handled it better than anyone else, including Stiles.

Stiles was pretty sure that a spell that promised to conjure up a magic baby for a “barren” couple should have provided a little more detail as to everything that would entail if both halves of the barren couple were dudes. Just a small mention of “magical uterus” and “lactation” would have been more than enough, really. By the time Stiles had realized just how the baby was going to come to be—for some reason he’d imagined it just appearing in the crib they’d put together in the spare room—there was nothing to be done but go along with it, no matter how unsettling it was, or what weird shit it did to his body.

There had been some bad, humiliating, embarrassing times during his pregnancy, but they got a kid out of it, and they were both crazy about her, and breastfeeding wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It wasn’t even the fourth worst thing in the world, which was obviously climate change deniers.

"She’s fine," Derek said, kissing the side of Stiles’ face. It was impossible to hide anything from him. "Relax."

"I know. I just…feel weird," Stiles said. Now that the terror was wearing off, he just…felt _weird_.

~*~

Derek and Stiles both agreed it was probably a fluke, but the baby slept through the next night too, and against his better judgment Stiles dared to hope this was the new normal. That second day following a solid nine hours of sleep felt like coming out of a fog—he could actually think about things beyond keeping this kid alive and comfortable, he could speak in complete sentences, he could put her in the stroller and walk around the block twice without wanting to collapse in exhaustion. Sleep deprivation sucked, and made everything terrible and difficult—getting some of that sleep back gave him a bit of his old life back. That was the weird feeling, he realized. He felt rested, he felt _normal_.

On the third evening the baby was already down for the night and Stiles was sitting up in their bed, idly contemplating reading a little before he went to sleep—reading, instead of falling face first into the pillow and passing out, how decadent!—when Derek wandered into the bedroom with an armload of clean clothes and started putting them away in the dresser.

He was wearing a faded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, nothing special, and since Derek didn’t have a job they’d been here in the house together pretty much all day every day since the birth, but it was like Stiles suddenly realized Derek was _there_. Not just as a second pair of hands, a partner in exhaustion and worry, someone to run errands and do housework while Stiles just tried to survive a newborn. Stiles was _seeing_ him again—the breadth of his strong shoulders, the flex of his triceps as he opened drawers and stowed away socks. The swell of his fantastic ass, and the way the hair on the back of his head came down in a little pointy curl right in the center of his neck.

Stiles, for the first time months—those last couple of weeks of pregnancy had been hellishly uncomfortable and tiring, and everything since then a blur—was awake, and well-rested, and _horny_.

Derek, who was now bent over a lower drawer putting away Stiles’ shirts, suddenly froze and then straightened, slowly, almost cautiously, coming back up to his full height. He left the drawer open, Stiles’ shirts carelessly abandoned half in and half out, which was unheard of for a neat freak like Derek. It felt like Stiles’ heart was thumping a hundred times a second, and he could feel his skin heating up, the prickle of goosebumps creeping up his arms when he pictured—

Derek’s back expanded as he drew a deep breath and his head tilted back just slightly, a gesture Stiles recognized as Derek lifting his nose, scenting the air. When he finally turned his head and looked at Stiles, his gaze was hot and wanting, mouth open a little like he was tasting Stiles in the air.

Stiles suddenly wanted him so bad he could barely think, felt fuzzy-headed and stupid again, but not because he was tired, but because his blood was roaring in his ears, vision tunneling down to nothing but Derek, who was the father of Stiles’ child and still the hottest fucking thing Stiles had ever seen.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t get any air, couldn’t remember how to work his throat, so he just nodded, once, and that was all it took. Derek’s jaw clenched like it did when he was especially determined about something, and he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, shoved his pants down and stepped out of them on the way to the bed.

Stiles had three T-shirts on, because sometimes he leaked at night and he was _not_ going to buy a nursing bra. They all came off as one when he gingerly peeled them up over his chest, and instantly Stiles wondered if he shouldn’t have left them on, because he and Derek hadn’t done anything like this since his milk had come in, or even talked about it. Maybe Derek wouldn’t want—but Derek was already kneeling on the bed next to him, whipping the blanket away, tugging off Stiles’ underwear, then taking Stiles’ face in his hands and kissing the hell out of him, weeks and weeks of pent up need making him attack Stiles’ mouth like he needed it to live. Stiles clutched at his arms and kissed back, frantic and hungry.

Stiles had assumed all this time Derek was jerking off in the shower, but Stiles hadn’t even done that more than once or twice in weeks, lacking both the urge and the energy. It was like a switch had been turned off somewhere inside him, libido run off to God knew where, but Derek had never complained about it, even though he had to be feeling the loss.

Now Stiles was definitely feeling the loss, too.

He wrapped one arm around Derek’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer but instead Derek came down with his upper body sideways over Stiles’ outstretched legs, one hand planted next to Stiles’ hip, the other one holding onto a fistful of hair at the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles’ dick, already hard, bumped against Derek’s ribs and just that little bit of contact was enough to make him moan into Derek’s mouth.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Derek said in response, and dragged his bristly chin down Stiles’ neck, biting and sucking along the way. Stiles had forgotten how that felt, the way it made his heart feel fluttery because it was such a Derek thing to do. He tipped his head back more and hummed in contentment when Derek closed his teeth on the tendon and just held them there. He’d missed this, and hadn’t even realized how much.

Derek kept going, mouthing at Stiles’ collar bone, then kissing a path down the center of his chest. His tongue teased at the sparse patch of hair there, and Stiles felt an another twinge of self-consciousness, aware all over again of his new post-baby body, breasts engorged, his stomach softer and not as flat as it was before. He put both his hands on Derek’s head, planning to gently urge him down past all that to his cock, but Derek had already diverted course sideways and was leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses on the side of Stiles’ left breast. His hand came up to cup the other one, fingers warm and sure on the underside, the heavy curve of it filling his palm.

Stiles felt paralyzed, exposed, not sure at all if he wanted Derek to acknowledge and accept how his body was different now or just go ahead and pretend those parts didn’t exist. And it was hard to think with Derek touching him.

"Is this okay?" Derek asked between kisses. He was working his way along the underside now, nuzzling a little, too.

Stiles swallowed hard and tried to relax his hands, which he’d just realized were clutching so hard at Derek’s hair that his knuckles were white. “Yeah,” he said, a little shiver going through him as Derek’s nose bumped against his swollen nipple. “Feels good.”

Derek nosed at Stiles’ nipple again, then pressed his hot, wet, open mouth right next to it. Stiles couldn’t figure out what he wanted, he couldn’t _think_. Derek’s eyes were closed, and his voice came out sandpaper rough when he asked, quietly, “Can I nurse?”

It should have been a shocking suggestion, because up until about thirty seconds ago, Stiles’ big new boobs had been strictly utilitarian. They were for feeding the baby, a necessary evil, something he wouldn’t miss when they were gone. He was _tolerating_ them for the sake of their kid.

And yet, under Derek’s hands, Derek’s mouth, they were suddenly something very different, something sexual and powerful and worthy of attention, and Derek was definitely not just tolerating them. Derek was _interested_ in them, and Stiles didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew what Derek wanted, and that was enough reason to forge ahead.

"Yes," Stiles said, hoarsely, arching his back, guiding Derek’s head just until his searching mouth found Stiles’ nipple. Derek touched it lightly with the tip of his tongue, drawing a gasp out of Stiles, and then he latched on and started to suckle.

Derek wasn’t like the baby at all. His mouth was bigger, and he was more gentle, not intent and greedy to fill his belly. He sucked tentatively at first—Stiles had been very, very vocal about sore nipples those first few weeks—one slow, tender pull, and it sent a jolt right down Stiles’ spine that made his dick jump, slapping against Derek’s body.

"Oh my God," Stiles whimpered, digging his fingers into Derek’s head, holding him there as Stiles’ back arched even more and he felt the sharp tingle of his milk letting down, flowing into Derek’s mouth. Derek made a soft, needy sound against his breast and Stiles dragged his shaking hand down the side of Derek’s face, over his hollowing cheek, to rest against the side of his neck where he could feel Derek’s throat working, swallowing it down.

He looked beautiful like this, eyelashes casting shadows on his face, flush spreading over his cheekbones, the scruff on his chin tickling Stiles’ skin in time with every soft sucking sound. He looked so vulnerable, so content, and Stiles couldn’t make sense of the confusing jumble of things he was feeling, love and tenderness and a desire to see Derek completely wrecked, sobbing his way through an orgasm, and then take care of him afterwards.

Stiles hadn’t even thought to check before but when he did now Derek looked almost painfully hard, his foreskin pulled way back like it only did when he was close to coming. He _really liked this_ , and had maybe wanted to do it all this time, or thought about it in the shower. It had never occurred to Stiles, but thank God Derek hadn’t been shy about asking. Stiles was feeling close to coming himself, just from Derek drinking from him.

Derek was still fondling Stiles’ other breast, squeezing gently, teasing his thumb over the nipple, and milk had already started to leak from that one, too, running down between Derek’s fingers, over his wrist, pooling in the crook of his elbow. Stiles swiped his fingers through it and got his hand down to spread it over Derek’s stiff cock. Derek’s hips snapped up at the touch, and his mouth went still and slack for a moment as he made a high-pitched little keen.

"Is this what you want?" Stiles asked, moving his fist in long, lazy pulls.

Derek nodded frantically and released Stiles’ nipple long enough to turn his face, nuzzling into the curve of Stiles’ breast as his hips started moving, pushing his dick up into Stiles’ hand. Stiles’ milk kept coming even without Derek nursing on him, little white drops catching in Derek’s beard, running in rivulets over his flushed throat, dripping into Stiles’ lap.

When Stiles panted out, “Yeah, Derek, come on,” Derek latched on again with a new intensity, mouth tugging at Stiles’ nipple like he was starving. Stiles was so hard now, throbbing with it, and he wanted to see Derek come.

It didn’t take much longer. Just a few more strokes and Derek came, fucking into Stiles’ milky grip, whining around his nipple. Stiles felt him pulsing in his fist and gentled his hand, let Derek move how he wanted until he was done, shuddering through the last of it with a little cry that vibrated through Stiles’ breastbone.

Neither of them moved for a few seconds, and then Derek collapsed onto his elbow, slowly dragging his mouth off Stiles’ nipple with a wet sucking sound. He was panting, his eyes hooded and glassy, belly and face wet.

"Come here," Stiles said shakily, taking Derek’s face in both his hands, not caring that he was smearing come all over his beard. Derek let Stiles kiss him, exploring. His mouth tasted sweet, like the milk left at the bottom of an empty cereal bowl, and he kissed Stiles back lazily, almost dreamily. Stiles had wrecked him without even trying.

"Gimme a minute," Derek slurred when they broke apart, rubbing his wet face all over Stiles’ neck. "I’ll take care of you."

"Damn right you will," Stiles said, poking Derek in the ribs with his dick again. "Now I’m uneven."

Derek laughed and reached down between their bodies, already regaining his motor functions. He never stayed wrecked for long. “Can’t have that,” he said, grinning, closing his hand around Stiles’ hard cock as Stiles guided Derek’s mouth to the other side of his chest.

**The End**


	19. Little Dumplings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on anon's fic prompt of "sterek childhood friends." Contains: Bullying. Physical altercations. Mention of panic attacks. Little kids being dicks to each other, as they do.

Stiles _loved_ school, okay? Jackson insisted it wasn’t _real_ school, but Stiles knew better. School was where you went during the day while your parents were at work, and teachers gave you things to do, and you learned stuff, and you made pictures to hang on the refrigerator at home. Stiles definitely went to school.

Jackson was probably just being annoying on purpose anyway, because it was called _Little Dumplings Pre-School._ It was right there in the name.

And Stiles looked forward to going there every day, because there was always lots of fun stuff to do, and a playground with a swingset and a sandbox, and Miss Blake didn’t get mad at him when he got the fidgets. And he got to spend _all day_ with Scott.

Scott was Stiles’ best friend at school, and also his best friend outside of school, because their parents were friends, too. Scott and Stiles had sleepovers and everything, even though they were only four years old. No one else in their class had had a sleepover yet. Stiles liked to brag about it.

Even if they weren’t mature enough for sleepovers yet, everyone else in class had a best friend, too. Jackson had Danny, Lydia had Allison. Boyd and Erica and Isaac were all best friends together, which was unconventional, but who was Stiles to judge.

They spent their days playing games Miss Blake taught them, and taking naps on their squishy mats, and learning how to write their names and how to count things. Sometimes they argued over toys until Miss Blake reminded them they had to share, and sometimes someone (Jackson) cried over who got a bigger cookie at snack time, but for the most part, they all got along. It was very peaceful and fun.

Until Derek Hale showed up.

~*~

Derek arrived for his first day of school after everyone else was already in their seats coloring their picture for the day. Since it was almost Thanksgiving, today’s picture was a cartoon turkey. The brown crayons were all being worn down to nubs.

"Oh, hi Derek!" Miss Blake said, smiling, when the door opened and Derek and his mom walked in. "I was wondering if you were going to join us today." Derek stared up at her and didn’t say anything, or smile back. He had the thickest eyebrows Stiles had ever seen on a kid, and they made him look really serious.

"We had a bit of a hectic morning at home. We’re still unpacking," Derek’s mom explained. She seemed a little frazzled. "Hopefully we’ll get into a routine soon." She looked down at Derek and smoothed his hair, which he didn’t take kindly to at all, glowering as he ran his own hands through it until it was sticking up all over again. Stiles was so busy watching all that he missed what Derek’s mom said next, only catching the word "sheriff’s department," which definitely made him snap back to attention. Stiles’ dad was the sheriff!

Now Stiles was really curious. They hadn’t had a new kid in the room since Allison, and this one was a boy, and he was wearing a shirt with a triceratops on it. Stiles loved dinosaurs; he knew more about them than anyone else in his class. And maybe this new kid’s mom knew Dad?

Since no one was paying attention to him, and he had already finished coloring his turkey, Stiles got out of his chair and slipped along the wall until he got to his cubby. If Miss Blake turned around and caught him, he could pretend he was cold and wanted his sweatshirt.

Miss Blake and Derek’s mom were too busy talking to notice Stiles, but Derek spotted him immediately and meanly narrowed his eyes at him. Stiles didn’t know what he’d done to provoke that much hostility right off the bat, but he didn’t like it. He stuck his tongue out at Derek, who wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at Stiles.

"Here’s his lunch," Derek’s mom said, handing Miss Blake a _Lion King_ lunch box with Derek’s name written on the side in black marker. She bent down and kissed Derek on the cheek. Derek grimaced through it, then rubbed his cheek like he could wipe the kiss off.

"Oh, and you might want to keep an eye on him around other kids," Derek’s mom said to Miss Blake as she straightened back up. "He’s a biter."

~*~

Miss Blake put Derek at Scott and Stiles’ table, and Stiles wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. It was normally just the two of them, and they liked it that way, spending most of their day in a little Scott and Stiles bubble. They didn’t have any say in it, though, could only sit silently as Miss Blake ushered Derek into the red chair—Stiles always sat in the blue one, and Scott the yellow—and gave him a turkey picture.

Derek didn’t even color it, just sat and stared at Scott and Stiles like a weirdo.

"You have to write your name on it," Stiles said, when the staring started to get aggravating. He tried to hand Derek a purple crayon. Derek looked at it, then reached over and grabbed a green one out of the pile instead and began to slowly print his name, right above the turkey’s butt.

"I want the green crayon, too," Scott said, when he looked up and saw. "I want to put grass on mine."

Derek didn’t say anything, just poked the corner of his mouth with his tongue as he labored over the first E in his name.

"Can Scott have the green crayon when you’re done?" Stiles asked Derek. You were supposed to say "please" but Miss Blake wasn’t close enough to hear.

Derek didn’t answer. Scott and Stiles sat watching as Derek finished writing his name. It seemed to take _forever._

"Can I please have the green crayon now?" Scott asked, when Derek was finally done.

Derek’s eyes flicked up at Scott, and then he looked back down at his paper and began to fill in his entire turkey with green.

~*~

After coloring time—Scott eventually decided his turkey was on the beach, since Derek refused to surrender the green crayon—it was sing-a-long time. Miss Blake had a little keyboard that could sound like a piano or a guitar or a saxophone, and made sound effects, too. Everyone loved sing-a-long time, except Derek, who sat silently the whole time, watching everyone else. He didn’t even sing “Pop! Goes the Weasel,” which was everyone’s favorite because they got to yell _pop!_ every time.

Then it was _finally_ playground time. As much as Stiles liked coloring and singing, being on the playground was a welcome change from all the classroom stuff where you couldn’t run, and had to use your inside voice. Stiles’ class got to go outside twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. Morning recess was Stiles’ favorite.

It was a little chilly outside today, but it was sunny, and Stiles had his new purple hoodie to keep him warm. It didn’t matter to Stiles what the weather was like anyway—he just wanted to zip around and shout all he wanted and not get the stink-eye from any adults. It could have been raining centipedes and he wouldn’t have cared. He zipped his sweatshirt all the way up to his chin and got in line behind the Scott and tried not to complain about how long it took Isaac to get his stupid scarf on. It wasn’t _that_ cold.

Finally, everyone had their outdoor clothes on and Miss Blake led them down the hallway to the back door. The line marched along obediently, if a little crookedly, talking in hushed voices because they had to walk past the baby room and if you woke up the babies you got in big trouble. 

Stiles and Scott had been in the baby room together a long time ago, but neither of them remembered it. When they passed by, Stiles peeked through the window in the door, but as usual there wasn’t much going on in there. Babies were pretty boring.

The anticipation continued to build as they rounded the corner, and by the time Miss Blake opened the door to the playground, Stiles felt like he was going to burst. At that point, there was no more orderly line, and no more inside voices. The class poured through the door onto the playground at full speed, shrieking with glee, and scattered like marbles.

Allison and Lydia made straight for the plastic castle, while Erica and Isaac and Boyd swarmed the slide. Jackson and Danny raced each other to the swingset, with Scott and Stiles close behind. Even though Derek had yet to say a word to either of them, and had been a meanie about the green crayon, he followed Scott and Stiles.

"Oh, _great_ ,” Scott said, when he looked back and saw Derek trailing behind them. Stiles chose to just ignore Derek entirely. He didn’t have time for people who weren’t nice to Scott. Jackson wasn’t nice to Scott, either. Maybe he and Derek could be friends.

And anyway, there was more important stuff to focus on, like the swings. The swingset was new, and it had four swings on it instead of three like the old one. Everyone knew four swings was better than three.

Danny was already sitting on the end one, being pushed by Jackson. Stiles took the one on the opposite end, hitching himself up onto the plastic seat, and when Derek saw, he darted forward and tried to grab the swing right next to Stiles. Scott always took the swing next to Stiles. That was what best friends did!

__Stiles was too shocked to do anything but stare, but Scott immediately threw himself at the same swing, grabbing one of the chains and trying to shove his butt in first._ _

__"I want to be next to Stiles," Scott huffed as Derek tried to shoulder him out of the way. "You can have the other one."_ _

__Derek didn’t say anything, but his face was set with grim resolve as he tried to force his way onto the seat. He was a little bigger than Scott, but Scott was very squirmy, and very determined. Scott had almost managed to get himself completely in the swing when Derek opened his mouth, craned his neck forward, and bit Scott right on the arm._ _

__Scott started wailing instantly, clutching his arm to his chest, and Stiles was off his swing before he even really knew what he was doing._ _

__"You leave him alone!" he yelled and put both hands in the middle of Derek’s chest and pushed as hard as he could. Derek went down on his butt, looking shocked, and then he started to cry, too._ _

__~*~_ _

__"Derek, apologize to Scott," Miss Blake said a few minutes later. They were all in the Quiet Room, which was usually where kids went to wait for their parents if they puked at school. Stiles had never been in here, and couldn’t help giving a sniff to two, just to see if it smelled like puke._ _

__Scott was sitting on the small bed in the corner, still sniffling. Miss Blake had wiped the bite down with something smelly while Scott yowled, and then put a Band-Aid on it. Now Scott was cradling his arm against his stomach like it had nearly been severed, even though Derek hadn’t even broken the skin._ _

__Derek himself was standing nearby, looking mutinous. He had tear tracks on his face and his nose was a little runny. He came forward at Miss Blake’s urging, but refused to look at Scott. “I’m sorry I bit you,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on his shoes. They were the first words he’d spoken all day._ _

__"All right," Scott said, and sniffled again._ _

__"Now it’s your turn," Miss Blake prompted Scott._ _

__"Sorry," Scott mumbled. Derek didn’t reply._ _

__"And now," Miss Blake said, using her hand on the top of Derek’s head to turn him toward Stiles. "You and Stiles apologize to each other."_ _

__"No way!" Stiles said immediately, outraged by this grave injustice. Clearly Miss Blake did not understand what had happened on the playground _at all_ , even though Stiles had explained it twice. “I’m not apologizing to him. He deserved it!”_ _

__Derek crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Stiles, though the effect was blunted a little by how watery his eyes were. Miss Blake looked down at him. “Derek? Are you going to apologize?” she asked._ _

__Derek stayed silent._ _

__If asked, Stiles would admit that _technically_ Derek didn’t owe Stiles an apology, since he hadn’t actually said or done anything to Stiles himself, but he certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that information._ _

__"All right," Miss Blake said briskly. "We’ll take care of this another way." She opened the Quiet Room door and marched all three of them through it. It was snack time, and everyone else was visiting quietly over their graham crackers and milk, but they all fell silent and stared as Scott and Stiles and Derek came into the room. There had never been an actual physical fight at school before. No one knew what to expect._ _

What Stiles certainly didn’t expect was for Miss Blake to instruct Scott to sit with Isaac and Erica and Boyd, and make Stiles and Derek sit together at the Scott and Stiles table _without Scott._

__Scott, already feeling wounded, dissolved back into tears immediately. “But I want to sit with Stiles!”_ _

__"I don’t wanna sit with Derek!" Stiles wailed, feeling dangerously close to tears himself._ _

__Derek shuffled over and took his place in the red chair. He didn’t express any opinion on the matter, just hunched over morosely and started drawing circles on the table top with his finger._ _

Of course, it didn’t really matter what Scott and Stiles wanted, because Miss Blake was the teacher, and she would not be swayed. For the first time Stiles could ever remember, he and Scott ate their snacks separately. Stiles was so upset he accidentally spilled his milk, and Miss Blake gave him a cup of water instead, which only made him more miserable. Everyone knew you couldn’t eat graham crackers with _water._

Plus, now that the fight was over and he was thinking clearly again, Stiles realized Miss Blake was probably going to tell their parents what had happened, including _Stiles’_ parents. Stiles had never intentionally hurt another kid before, so he had no idea what was going to happen when Mom and Dad found out. Was his own father going to have to _arrest him?_

He took another bite of graham cracker and chewed listlessly on it, wishing he had some milk. Derek stared at him as he gnawed on his own cracker. Not only did Derek have milk, he had a little carton of _special milk_ , with a bendy straw in it and everything.

__"I’m ‘lergic to regular milk," Derek said, slurping some special milk up through the straw, when he saw Stiles looking at it. It was the first thing he’d said voluntarily._ _

__"Really?" Stiles asked, perking up. "What happens?" He had an aunt who swelled up when she ate fish._ _

"I throw up," Derek said, a little proudly. " _Everywhere._ ”

__"Wow," Stiles said, impressed._ _

__"Wanna try some?" Derek asked, sliding his milk carton toward Stiles. "It’s made from nuts."_ _

__Stiles still thought Derek wasn’t very nice, but he knew a peace offering when he saw one, and he was also really curious to know what nut milk tasted like._ _

__Not all that great, he discovered._ _

__~*~_ _

__So Stiles survived snack time without Scott, and graham crackers with no milk, and he was pretty proud of himself. Little did he know things were going to get worse, come story time._ _

__Story time was Stiles’ second favorite part of the day. Miss Blake had a nice voice that made Stiles feel like someone was rubbing his head when he listened to it, and she always picked good stories to read. Plus, today it meant a break from having to sit all alone with Derek, who, after Stiles told him his special milk was gross, went back to just staring at him and not talking._ _

__Relieved to finally get away from Derek, Stiles grabbed his mat and his blanket out of his cubby and headed straight for his usual spot next to Scott, but Miss Blake intercepted him._ _

__"You and Derek are going to sit next to each other," she said. Derek had already put his mat down off to the side, near the window, and was sitting on it, glaring at his Batman sneakers. "And you’re going to hold hands."_ _

__"What?" Stiles blurted. He looked over at Derek, who was looking back at him, mouth fallen open in shock. His eyes were so wide that for once his eyebrows weren’t his most noticeable facial feature._ _

__"If you refuse to apologize to each other, you’ll have to make up another way," Miss Blake said firmly, steering Stiles over toward Derek and standing there while he obediently—if somewhat grudgingly—put his mat down._ _

__Once he got it unrolled, Stiles sprawled sullenly on his back on his mat, his blanket half over him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Derek lay down, too. He didn’t have a blanket._ _

__Stiles stared determinedly at the ceiling. He was pretty sure Derek was doing that, too._ _

__Miss Blake towered over them, waiting._ _

__Finally, Derek sighed and flopped his hand out between them, so Stiles did the same, but they were too far apart and Miss Blake was giving them a look. Stiles scooted a little closer, until their fingertips touched. Slowly, Derek turned his hand over and put it over Stiles’. Their fingers sort of snagged on each other rather than hanging on, but that seemed to be enough for Miss Blake who finally walked away, looking satisfied._ _

Everyone else was already settled on their mats and not paying much attention to Derek and Stiles, except for Scott, who was sitting all alone, looking like he might cry again. This was horrible. This was the worst thing that had happened to Stiles at school _ever._

__Miss Blake took a seat at the front of the room and smiled pleasantly before she opened the book and started reading, but Stiles wasn’t falling for it. She was pure evil, he realized now—even eviler than Cruella de Vil, who wanted to make a coat out of puppies. She still had a nice voice, though._ _

Today’s story was _Where the Wild Things Are_ , one of Stiles’ favorites, but he had a hard time concentrating. He kept looking over at Scott, who had finally laid down on his mat, wrapped in his blanket like a lonely little burrito. Scott had the corner of his blanket flipped up over his face and never once looked over at Stiles and Derek.

__Derek’s hand was kind of sweaty and sticky, and his thumb kept twitching. Stiles wished he would stop it, so the next time he did it, Stiles tightened his grip so it couldn’t twitch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Derek’s head roll to look at him, and then he tightened his hand, too. Now they really were holding hands, not just pretending to make Miss Blake happy._ _

__Stiles had never held hands with anyone before except his parents. He’d thought he’d like to hold hands with Lydia some time because she had pretty red hair and knew how to do addition already, but he knew better than to try. Derek had messy black hair, and Stiles had no idea if he knew how to do addition, but holding his hand was okay._ _

__Stiles drifted off into naptime, lulled by Miss Blake’s voice and Derek’s moist grip._ _

__~*~_ _

__Stiles’ dad said he was disappointed in him—and gave him a long, boring lecture—but he didn’t arrest him._ _

__~*~_ _

__By the next morning Stiles had forgotten all about the new table assignments and the hand-holding, until he walked back into the classroom and saw Scott already seated at the other table with Erica and Isaac and Boyd. He gave Stiles a woeful look and then went back to coloring._ _

Stiles was _stunned_. He’d just assumed everything would go back to normal this morning, with the possible exception that Miss Blake would come to her senses and move Derek to another table, which seemed like the easiest solution. It was the Scott and Stiles table for a reason—Scott and Stiles sat there every day, no one else.

__It hadn’t even entered Stiles’ mind that Scott wouldn’t be allowed to sit there again today. No one had ever had a punishment for anything last more than one day. That was not how things were done at Little Dumplings._ _

But apparently that was how things were done now. Derek was already sitting at the Scott and Stiles table, today’s picture pinned down with one starfished hand while he scribbled away. And he was _sitting in the yellow chair._ The one right next to Stiles’ blue one.

__"That’s Scott’s chair," Stiles said when he sat down._ _

__Derek didn’t dispute that fact. He just handed Stiles the orange crayon and went back to coloring._ _

__Today’s picture was pumpkins, Stiles saw. Since he already had the orange crayon, he set himself to filling them in, scribbling in wide arcs. Derek, Stiles noticed, made short little lines with his crayon, and he was coloring his pumpkins pink._ _

__Stiles didn’t approve of Derek’s unconventional coloring choices, but that seemed the least of his problems right now._ _

__Scott, who was now on his second day sitting with Boyd and Erica and Isaac, seemed to be adapting to it fairly quickly. Whenever Stiles looked over at him, he wasn’t gazing wistfully over at Stiles like he had the day before, but was busy building a tower of blocks with Boyd, or blowing bubbles with his spit to make Isaac laugh. It stung a little, seeing him having a good time with the other kids, and Stiles didn’t like it at all. After a while, he stopped looking over there, because it was just making him more miserable._ _

__That left him with no one to focus on but Derek, who seemed a lot less hostile toward Stiles today. He shared the crayons nicely—even the green one—and helped Stiles make a dragon out of Play-Doh, and sat next to him during sing-a-long time, even though he still didn’t sing. That made what happened during morning recess even more shocking._ _

__Playground time was even more of a godsend today, because finally Stiles and Scott could be together. Stiles had been a little worried that Scott would want to play with Erica and Boyd and Isaac now, but as soon as they burst through the door Scott pounced on Stiles like an overgrown kitten. They whooped and jumped, pawing at each other’s jackets, until they fell on the ground in a tangle, and Stiles felt all his misery and worry disappear like a popped soap bubble._ _

__When they finally got up, they ran straight for the sandbox and Stiles started blocking out the boundaries of their castle while Scott worked on building a tower. They always built the best castles together. The last one had had a moat and everything._ _

__After a minute or two, Stiles noticed Derek slinking toward them, looking all pinchy and miserable again. He stepped into the sandbox, then stood there silently, watching._ _

__"You wanna play with us?" Stiles asked, having warmed to Derek a little over the course of the morning, but Scott immediately objected._ _

__"I’m not playing with him," Scott said, reaching for the extra sand pail and putting it behind him, where Derek couldn’t reach it. "He’s mean."_ _

__Derek looked positively crushed for a second, then he narrowed his eyes at Scott, pulled his foot back, and brought it forward straight through the castle, which had the dual effect of destroying it and kicking sand right into Scott’s face._ _

__What else could Stiles do but retaliate?_ _

__~*~_ _

__"I’m not apologizing," Stiles said mutinously, once they were in the Quiet Room with Scott and Miss Blake again._ _

__"Me neither," Derek said._ _

They held hands through _Curious George Learns the Alphabet_ , and Stiles’ dad was disappointed in him again that night.

~*~

__The next morning, Stiles and Derek were still exiled together at the corner table, and Derek didn’t seem to care. Of course, why would he? He wasn’t separated from his best friend like Stiles was. He didn’t even have a best friend. Nobody liked him, because he was a biter and a sand-kicker._ _

__Except…Stiles maybe did like Derek, a little. When they were inside, just the two of them at their table, Derek was fine. He was even friendly, and had even started talking a little more. He told Stiles all about how his family had moved here because his mom got a job with the county—which Stiles already knew, because he’d heard his parents talking about Derek’s mom over dinner._ _

__Derek’s mom was the coroner, which Stiles knew meant she looked at dead bodies all day. Stiles thought that was both gross and cool, but Derek didn’t seem very interested in his mom’s job and claimed to have never seen a dead person, just animals on the road, and his sister’s hamster._ _

__"Its eyes were like this," Derek said, closing his eyes halfway so all Stiles could see was a little strip of white._ _

__"Ewww!" Stiles said, fascinated. "Was it all stiff?" Stiles had heard dead things got stiff like a board._ _

__"I dunno," Derek shrugged. "My dad put it in an ice cream carton and buried it in the flowerbed. My sister cried."_ _

__"You should dig it up and see what it looks like now!" Stiles suggested, wondering if he could somehow wrangle an invitation to be there for it._ _

__"It’s at our old house," Derek said, patting a handful of clay flat so he could press his leaf into it._ _

__"Oh," Stiles said, disappointed. He’d forgotten that part. He picked up his own piece of clay and hurriedly began to smush it into a circle. He’d kind of forgotten about it while talking to Derek._ _

__Stiles asked a few more questions, but Derek wasn’t able to provide many details about dead hamsters, which was a shame. The part about the eyes was valuable information, though, so Stiles appreciated Derek’s input. They talked about other stuff until art time was over and then they built a sabretooth tiger trap out of Legos that was the best sabretooth tiger trap Stiles had ever seen._ _

Just like the day before, everything was fine, or even better than fine, until recess, when Derek skipped Stiles’ turn on the slide _twice_ , and then said velociraptors were the boringest dinosaur. Maybe Stiles would have been able to tolerate one of those things, but not both. The situation degenerated quickly from there.

In the Quiet Room, Miss Blake sighed and gave them a lecture about tolerance and sharing, which blah blah blah like Stiles didn’t already know that stuff. He was four years old! _Sheesh!_

__Stiles didn’t even bother to get his mat out for story time, just laid down on Derek’s, because it was easier, and also because Derek still didn’t have a blanket and Stiles’ was big enough for two. Scott had started putting his mat next to Isaac, so at least Stiles didn’t have to feel guilty about making him sit through story time alone._ _

__At lunch time, it was discovered that Derek’s special milk had burst and leaked all over his lunch box. His sandwich was in a plastic bag and was fine, but he didn’t have anything to drink but water. Stiles had a little carton of orange juice, so he shared that with Derek, too._ _

__~*~_ _

__The next morning, Stiles woke up with a sore throat and spent the rest of the week at home with a babysitter, the retired lady who lived across the street and liked to watch dancing competitions on TV._ _

__When he walked back into the classroom on Monday morning, Derek was still at their table, but Scott was back, and there was also a new girl sitting there now, too. Miss Blake was really getting carried away with all the changes._ _

__"Stiles!" Derek cried, thrilled, as soon as he saw him. He’d never done anything like that before, and it made Stiles feel good. Normally Scott was the only person in the class who was that excited to see him._ _

__Stiles waved at him, and Derek waved back, and so did Scott, who was grinning like a loon. The new girl was smiling, too. She seemed friendly enough, so maybe they wouldn’t have all the drama at the table like they’d had with Derek._ _

__"Stiles, I’m back!" Scott said happily when Stiles sat down, as if Stiles hadn’t noticed._ _

__"Hi!" the new girl said. She was wearing a purple tutu, and her name was Kira, and she was sitting in the green chair, which until now had always been empty._ _

Derek was still in the yellow chair he’d commandeered from Scott, and Scott was now in the red chair, which was all the way across the table from Stiles. It wasn’t ideal, but Stiles wasn’t going to dwell on it because he and Scott were back together again _finally._

__He didn’t have time to anyway, because there was coloring to be done. Today’s picture was a cartoon bear wearing a hat. Stiles and Kira colored their bears black, while Scott filled his in brown. Derek claimed his was a polar bear, and didn’t color it at all, just made the hat red. Stiles was impressed with his creativity._ _

__Once everyone had finished their picture, Miss Blake announced that this morning instead of singing there would be fingerpainting, which was always fun, and usually stained Stiles’ fingernails blue. While they waited for Miss Blake to pass out the smocks and the paints, Stiles noticed Kira’s T-shirt had Wonder Woman on it, so Stiles told her he liked superheroes, too, and then Scott chimed in and pretty soon the three of them were chattering away._ _

__Kira had moved here because of her dad’s job, but he wasn’t a coroner, he was a teacher at the high school. This was not nearly as interesting or as exciting as Derek’s mom being the coroner, but Scott seemed fascinated. Kira had already been at Little Dumplings for a few days, while Stiles was sick, and Scott obviously liked her already._ _

__Stiles would have preferred to have all of Scott’s attention for himself again, but that wasn’t going to be the case with Kira at the table. It wasn’t a big deal, Stiles told himself, because he’d recently made a new friend, too. He had Derek._ _

__And Stiles had missed Derek, too, while he’d been home sick. Derek hadn’t said much since Stiles sat down, just sat quietly next to Stiles and watched him talk to Scott and Kira, which hadn’t even fazed Stiles at all, so maybe he was getting used to Derek’s weirdness._ _

__While Scott and Kira were talking, Stiles showed Derek his stegosaurus shirt, which he’d picked out on his own today because he hadn’t worn it in a while and going back to school after being sick was a special occasion. Derek was sufficiently impressed._ _

__"I got a new backpack," Derek shared. "It’s got Ninja Turtles on it."_ _

__"What happened to your old backpack?" Stiles asked._ _

__"My mom threw it away," Derek said, screwing up his face in disgust for some reason Stiles couldn’t fathom._ _

__At morning recess, Scott wanted to play a game with Kira and Allison and Isaac where they fought with sticks they pretended were swords. There were already a lot of rules for it, so they must have been playing it while Stiles was home sick. That thought made Stiles feel kind of bad, but he went along with the game anyway, even though he would much rather have built a sandcastle with Scott, just the two of them._ _

__It seemed like a lot had changed while Stiles was gone. Kira and Scott were already friends, and Scott was friends with Isaac and Boyd and Erica now, too, after spending so many days sitting with them. Scott had a whole group of friends that Stiles had to share him with, and Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to share Scott with other people at all. He’d like it just fine the way it was, until Derek showed up and threw everything off._ _

__Derek! Stiles had totally forgotten about him. He put down his stick-sword and looked around for Derek’s spiky black head, first by the slide and then by swings, and finally found him sitting by himself in the sandbox. He wasn’t really building anything, just pushing sand around. His face lit up when he saw Stiles walking toward him._ _

__"You wanna play swords with us?" Stiles asked. Everyone else was still play fighting on the grass, shrieking up a storm._ _

__Derek’s face fell and he looked back down at the sand. “No,” he said, boring a hole in the sand with his finger. “They don’t like me.”_ _

__That was pretty much true, Stiles thought. But Derek certainly hadn’t done much to make himself likeable. He was friendlier with Stiles than anyone else, but that didn’t stop him from being mean sometimes, too._ _

__"Wanna push me on the swings?" Stiles asked. That was something they could do together. He was kind of tired of playing swords anyway. It wasn’t as exciting as he’d been led to believe._ _

__That made Derek perk up. “Okay,” he said, and scrambled to his feet._ _

__Derek pushed Stiles on the swing with his sandy hands, and told him everything he’d missed while he was sick, like what pictures they’d colored and what stories Miss Blake had read. Stiles pictured Derek all alone on his mat with no blanket during story time, and that made him feel bad, too. Maybe even more bad than thinking about Scott having other friends._ _

__"My dad gave me the wrong sandwich in my lunch and it had regular cheese on it and I threw up," Derek bragged._ _

__"Everywhere?" Stiles asked, breathless._ _

__"Everywhere," Derek confirmed. Stiles had really picked the wrong time to get sick._ _

__Also, Stiles suspected that now he knew why Derek’s mom had thrown away his old backpack._ _

__After that Stiles pushed Derek on the swing for a while, until Miss Blake blew the whistle that meant it was time to go back inside._ _

__Lining up outside the door, waiting for Miss Blake to lead them in, felt weird for some reason, and after a minute Stiles figured out it was because it had been a long time since he and Derek had actually gone back inside with the rest of the class. Usually by now they would have gotten into a disagreement and been marched into the Quiet Room, doomed to hold hands during story time._ _

__But that wouldn’t happen today, because they’d both behaved themselves during recess. Miss Blake didn’t have any reason to take them to the Quiet Room or make them hold hands. Stiles could sit with Scott today, probably, though now that meant sitting with Kira and Erica and Boyd and Isaac, too. Maybe he wouldn’t even get to sit next to Scott anymore. Maybe he’d have to sit next to Isaac or Erica, just to be near Scott, while Derek sat by himself._ _

__Miss Blake opened the door and the line started moving, making their way back to the room for snack time._ _

__Quick as a snake, Stiles stretched out his foot and stomped on the back of Derek’s shoe, giving him a flat tire. Derek whirled around and pinched him, hard._ _

__Later, they fell asleep under Stiles’ blanket, listening to Miss Blake read about green eggs and ham, Derek’s hand a damp and comforting weight on top of Stiles’._ _

__~*~_ _

__"You two seem to get along so well, except on the playground," Miss Blake said the next day after morning recess. She’d given up on asking them to apologize to each other, which was just fine with Stiles. His pants were still a little wet where water had splashed all over them when Derek stomped in a puddle, and Derek’s shirt had a big muddy splotch on the front, the exact size and shape of Stiles’ hand._ _

__Derek got special yogurt at snack time, and let Stiles try it. It was way better than the special milk. When Miss Blake sat down and started to read, Derek held Stiles’ hand under the blanket, even though it was still kind of muddy._ _

__~*~_ _

__So it went._ _

By the end of the week, Miss Blake had had enough, and she called Stiles’ parents and Derek’s parents in for a meeting after school. Stiles was _terrified._

__He and Derek sat on the little wooden bench under the window in their classroom while their parents talked with Miss Blake in her office, which was behind a door in the back of the room. No matter how hard he strained his ears, Stiles couldn’t pick out more than a word or two in what was just a rumble of voices. He was tempted to try to sneak a little closer, but he was already in enough trouble._ _

__He tried to sit as quietly as possible on the bench, but he had a bad case of jimmy leg, and couldn’t make it stop bouncing. Derek was still as a corpse, watching Bubbles, the class goldfish, swim back and forth in his tank._ _

__Stiles was convinced they were going to kick him out of school. He knew it happened sometimes; it was called getting expulsioned and it was the worst thing that could happen to a kid. If he could never come back to school he’d hardly see Scott anymore, only when their parents let them, and maybe Scott’s parents wouldn’t want him to hang out with an expulsioned kid._ _

__Just as bad, Stiles would probably never see Derek again at all. Stiles’ dad and Derek’s mom worked together, but they weren’t friends. Stiles would probably have to spend all day every day with the neighbor, watching dancing shows, friendless. His life would be ruined._ _

__As the enormity of the situation sank in, and Stiles realized he’d already, at the age of four, destroyed his entire future, Derek stared on, either unbothered by or unaware of what was currently at stake. It made Stiles feel even more isolated and miserable._ _

He thought he was going to cry, and he hated crying, because sometimes when he cried too hard he got the lung squeezies. The lung squeezies were scary and made him feel like he couldn’t breathe, and his mom or his dad had to help him calm down but they were in the office with Miss Blake and wouldn’t even know it was happening. Stiles had never had the lung squeezies without someone around who could help him. Maybe if no one knew what to do he’d _die._

__Before he could stop it, Stiles hiccupped a little sob, feeling small and alone and sad. He just wanted everything to be simple and good again, like it had been before._ _

__Next to him, Derek was still perfectly silent, but his hand stole across the bench and closed over Stiles’, familiar, and comfortingly sticky. Stiles sucked in a shaky breath and twisted his wrist so he could hang on tight. Derek held on just as tight._ _

__"Will you still be my friend if I get expulsioned?" Stiles whispered, because he couldn’t stand not knowing._ _

__Derek turned his head to frown at him, obviously confused. “What’s expulsioned?”_ _

__"It’s when they make you leave school forever," Stiles explained, feeling his lower lip start to tremble. He couldn’t even bear to talk about it, it was so awful._ _

__Derek’s eyes were suddenly wide as golf balls. “Forever?”_ _

__"Forever," Stiles nodded. One of the older kids on his street had gotten her diploma on the computer instead of at school. Stiles supposed he’d have to do that now, which was going to take forever because he was only allowed to use the computer for thirty minutes a day, after dinner._ _

__"I’ll be your friend no matter what," Derek said fiercely, squeezing Stiles’ hand even harder. "You can come to my birthday party."_ _

__"Really?" Stiles asked, sniffling. He loved birthday parties. There were usually games and cake, and sometimes you got presents, too, even though it wasn’t your birthday, in a little bag when you left. There might even be a bouncy house, if it was a kid party and not a boring adult party. Stiles had been to three kid parties already in his life, so he considered himself something of an expert._ _

__Derek nodded solemnly. “My dad makes spaghetti, and we have ice cream that doesn’t make me throw up,” he said._ _

__"You can come to my birthday, too," Stiles promised, even though his birthday was a long time away—it wasn’t even Christmas yet, and his birthday was way after Christmas. Derek grinned at him so big Stiles noticed for the first time that one of his front teeth was chipped and kind of pointy. That was probably what happened when you were a biter._ _

__Stiles didn’t get a chance to ask Derek about his tooth, because the office door opened and all the grown-ups came out. This was the moment of truth: they were finally going to learn their punishment._ _

To Stiles’ horror, Miss Blake and Derek’s parents were smiling and laughing, and Stiles’ lip started to tremble again—they were probably kicking him out of school and they were _happy_ about it. They were glad to get rid of him.

__Stiles’ parents came out of the room last, talking quietly amongst themselves. When they saw him sitting on the bench clinging to Derek’s hand and on the verge of tears, they rushed over. Miss Blake and Derek’s parents noticed, and immediately stopped laughing as they hurried over, too._ _

__"Honey, what’s wrong?" Mom asked him, putting her hand on his forehead like she did when he was checking to see if he had a fever._ _

__"He’s scared you’re gonna kick him out of school," Derek said, sounding a little accusatory, even though it was Stiles’ own fault he was in trouble. He could have just ignored Derek on the playground all this time, or been sneakier about getting back at him at least._ _

__"Oh, honey," Miss Blake said softly. "We’re not going to kick you out of school. We’re just trying to figure out how to make you two stop fighting."_ _

__"It sure doesn’t look like they’re fighting now," Derek’s dad pointed out. He was the biggest man Stiles had ever seen. He was probably even bigger than Batman. Derek definitely got his eyebrows from him._ _

__Mom ran her fingers soothingly through Stiles’ hair while Dad hunkered down in front of him. Dad looked at Stiles, then at Derek, and then at their hands, still clutched together on the bench between them. He had that look on his face he always got when he’d figured out something Stiles was trying to hide._ _

__"You know, boys," Dad said, rubbing his chin, "It’s okay to hold hands whenever you want to, right? And you can sit with each other at story time every day, if you want. You don’t have to do it because Miss Blake is trying to teach you a lesson."_ _

"But I need to sit with Scott," Stiles said, shrill. He always sat with Scott. Scott was his _best friend._ They had _sleepovers._

__"Who’s Scott?" Derek’s dad asked Miss Blake._ _

__"He’s Stiles’ friend," Miss Blake said._ _

"My _best_ friend!” Stiles exclaimed. Derek suddenly tried to yank his hand away, but Stiles held on with all his might. “We can’t all three be best friends,” he said brokenly. Isaac and Erica and Boyd somehow did it, but they all liked each other. Scott and Derek didn’t get along. Stiles didn’t want to choose. He couldn’t choose.

__"Is that what this is all about?" Mom asked, with a definite tone of disbelief. "Oh, Stiles."_ _

__"Well, this explains a lot," Derek’s dad said. He knuckled Derek on the head. "You want to be best friends with Stiles?" he asked._ _

__"Yes," Derek said, small._ _

"But we _can’t_ —” Stiles started to say, because the grown-ups didn’t seem to understand—

"How about Scott can be your best friend and Derek can be your special friend?" Derek’s mom suggested, totally blowing Stiles’ mind. _Special_ friend! Stiles had never heard of that before, but it sounded perfect. And Derek already had special milk and special yogurt and special cheese, so it made total sense that Stiles could be his special friend.

__"That would work," Miss Blake agreed. "Stiles, you can sit between Scott and Derek during story time. How about that?"_ _

__Stiles snuck a glance over at Derek, who was looking at him with big, hopeful eyes._ _

__"Can we do that?" he asked Derek._ _

__"Will you still sit on my mat?" Derek asked. Stiles looked up at Miss Blake to see if that was okay. She smiled and nodded._ _

__"Yes," Stiles said. "And you can still use my blanket, if you want."_ _

__"Okay," Derek said. He looked satisfied with the arrangement._ _

__"Doesn’t Derek have his own blanket?" Derek’s dad asked, frowning._ _

__"Of course he has his own blanket," Derek’s mom said. "I forgot it in the car the first day, because we were in such a hurry, but I…"_ _

__She trailed off as she looked over at the wall of cubbies, and everyone looked over at the cubbies, too, except for Derek, who began to studiously examine his knees._ _

__Derek’s dad suddenly walked over and bent to look in Derek’s cubby, which as far as Stiles could see didn’t have a blanket in it. Then he straightened up and frowned as he peered into one of the big cubbies on top, the ones Miss Blake used to store stuff, because they were too high up for any of the kids to use._ _

__While they all looked on, Derek’s dad reached in, and pulled out a ragged-looking blanket that had probably been white at some point but was now closer to gray._ _

__"This blanket?" Derek’s dad asked, raising an eyebrow at Derek._ _

__Derek’s face was turning beet red. He nodded shyly, never looking up from his knees._ _

__"Derek, did you hide your blanket so you had to share with Stiles?" Miss Blake asked._ _

__"Yes," Derek said, sounding miserable._ _

"Huh. That’s actually pretty sm—" Dad started to stay, then broke off with an _oof!_ when Mom poked him in the ribs.

__Stiles used his elbow to nudge Derek, who was chewing guiltily on his lower lip._ _

__"Wow," Stiles said admiringly. "You climbed all the way up there? You’re like Spider-Man!"_ _

__Derek finally looked up then, at Stiles, and beamed._ _

__~*~_ _

__Stiles wasn’t sure how Scott would take the news about Derek being his special friend when he explained it to him the next day during coloring time, and at first Stiles feared the worst had come to pass, because Scott’s face scrunched down into a frown. When Stiles got to the part, though, about having a special friend and a best friend, Scott’s expression lifted immediately._ _

__"Can I have a special friend, too?" he asked. Stiles was about to ask who Scott wanted for a special friend when he saw him look shyly over at Kira, who was drawing big, bloody wounds on her cartoon snake for some reason, not paying attention to the conversation._ _

__Stiles thought this was a little hasty, because Scott had only known Kira for a few days, but Stiles’ own special friend had shoved a handful of sand down Stiles’ pants last week, so Stiles wasn’t really in a place to criticize._ _

__"Sure," he said, magnanimously, as Kira reached for the silver crayon and drew a huge knife slashing down into the snake._ _

__Scott’s special friend almost made Stiles’ seem normal by comparison, really._ _

__~*~_ _

__Recess that day was the best one yet. Derek and Stiles played with Scott and Kira, and no one cried, and no one got in trouble. It was the most fun Stiles had had on the playground in weeks._ _

Now that everyone’s friendship status had been formalized, the lingering animosity between Scott and Derek seemed to evaporate, and Scott even pushed Derek on the swings for a little bit while Stiles and Kira were on the slide. At snack time, Derek let Scott try his special milk, and Scott _liked_ it. Stiles was aghast.

__But what Stiles was really looking forward to was story time, because now he didn’t have to feel bad or guilty about who he was sitting next to and why._ _

__When they got their mats out, Scott watched Stiles sit down on Derek’s, and decided he wanted to share with Kira. Miss Blake said that was okay, so they put two mats down side by side and lined up all in a row on them. Derek’s blanket was bigger than everyone else’s, big enough to cover Derek, Stiles, Scott and Kira, so they shared it, even though it smelled like Play-Doh from being up in the storage bin for weeks._ _

__Stiles sighed happily as he settled down into the cozy space between Derek and Scott, between his special friend and his best friend. Right before he fell asleep, he felt Scott’s hand steal over and slip into his, a counterweight to Derek’s reassuring grip on his other side. It was the best feeling in the world, and exactly where he wanted to be forever._ _

__**The End** _ _

"Expulsioned!" by the lovely [Trystings.](http://trystings.tumblr.com/post/93676990861/expulsioned-fanart-illustration-for)

[Image description: Drawing of Stiles and Derek holding hands on the bench while their parents meet with Miss Blake. Above their heads hang Derek's green turkey, Derek's polar bear, and Stiles' orange pumpkin.] 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This story neither condemns nor condones forced handholding as a form of reconciliation/punishment.
> 
> * I kind of miss morbid!Kira from last season.
> 
> * Four for you, Glen Coco, if you noticed Derek and Scott’s chair colors.


	20. Everything We Know About You Guys Is Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Throwback Thursday I dusted off an old ficlet request fill I started back in 2012 when an anon asked for a How to Train Your Dragon AU. This isn’t _quite_ that, but there is a dragon. And a happy ending. :D

When Derek regained consciousness, he was face-down in the grass next to what sounded like running water. His head was pounding, and his nose was choked with dried blood, and the rest of his body felt like he’d fallen down a flight of stairs. _Sixteen_ flights of stairs, maybe. He didn't even want to open his eyes.

"Stiles?" he mumbled, wincing at the way talking made his head pound harder. The last thing he remembered was being with Stiles. Fleeing for their lives, as usual.

"Is that your name? Stiles?" a deep, rumbling, unfamiliar voice said, and Derek didn't just hear the words, he felt them vibrate through his very bones. That couldn’t be good.

Now Derek _really_ didn't want to open his eyes. Something must have gone terribly, terribly wrong. He and Stiles had been on what was one of the more ludicrous middle-of-the-night errands Deaton had ever sent them on—investigating a rash of livestock disappearances—and that was how they'd ended up in a field full of angry, territorial ostriches. 

How he'd eventually ended up _here_ with someone big enough to have a voice like that was a mystery. Maybe if he went back to being unconscious he'd never have to figure it out.

Something hot and wet and fleshy touched his cheek, and he batted at it with his hand— _ew, slimy_ —and opened his eyes, against his better judgment. Groaning, he got his hands under him and managed to flop over onto his back. It was daylight now, and even though he was in a spot of blessed shade, his eyes took a few painful seconds to adjust.

He wasn’t in the field anymore, that was for sure. Off to his right was a wall of solid rock, and there were no ostriches in sight.

"Is your name Stiles?" the voice asked again, and an enormous black, scaly snout dropped into Derek's field of vision. It was so close and so big Derek's eyes crossed when he tried to look at it. A pink, forked tongue flickered out and the very tip of one side of it gently touched his face, then his throat, before withdrawing again. 

Great. A giant lizard. Must be Thursday.

"Is your name Stiles?" the lizard asked one more time. Its breath was hot and smelled like raw meat.

"Uh, no," Derek said. He sat up and shoved himself backward with his heels so he could get far enough away to get a good look at the lizard, and that was when he realized he wasn't simply in the shade—he was in the shadow cast by the lizard's huge, leathery wings. The lizard was actually a _dragon_.

"You're a dragon," Derek blurted, then immediately decided that was a dumb thing to say, because the dragon probably knew that.

"Yes!" the dragon said immediately, sounding pleased. It may have even preened a little. "My name is Esmeralda." 

So a girl dragon then, Derek assumed. He had no idea if dragons used gendered naming conventions, but he was gonna roll with it. 

Esmeralda's tongue snuck out again and tapped Derek in the middle of his chest, leaving a damp spot on his shirt. He preferred that to getting his face licked, though. "What's _your_ name?" she asked.

"Derek," Derek said, then asked, "Are you going to eat me?" He'd rather just know up front. 

"No!" she said, sounding genuinely shocked at the suggestion. She recoiled a little and ruffled her wings indignantly.

"Sorry," Derek said hurriedly. "No offense. I just haven't met a dragon before, so…"

"Hrmph," Esmeralda said, breath gusting out of her nose so hard Derek swayed backward with it. She brought her huge forefoot into view, big enough for Derek to sit in like Fay Wray in that old King Kong movie, and poked him in the ribs with a shiny black claw. He tried not to flinch, and failed miserably. "There isn't much meat on you, even if humans tasted good. Which they do not."

Derek was comforted for the whole fraction of a second it took him to figure out what _that_ meant. "How do you know we don't?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. Esmeralda looked away, wings drooping fractionally, like she was embarrassed. "Well," Derek said, when no further answer was forthcoming. "Lucky me, I guess, that you've already given us a taste test."

Esmeralda didn't say anything. The silence started to get a little awkward. "So why am I here?" Derek asked, when he couldn't take it anymore. 

That made Esmeralda rear back to sit up on her hind legs, like a dog begging for a treat. The claws on her front feet clicked together when she clasped them in front of her. Her underbelly was a bright, iridescent purple. "I rescued you!" she said excitedly.

"I didn't need to be rescued," Derek grumbled, which was…mostly true. Just because you were running for your life and screaming like a horror movie victim didn't mean your life was actually in danger or anything. Derek and Stiles did that, like, once a week. 

"Yes, you _did_ need rescuing," Esmeralda insisted. "From the big chickens." 

"From the big—the ostriches?" Derek asked. God, his head hurt.

"Is that what they're called?" she asked, tilting her head like a curious dog. "They're very delicious."

"So _you've_ been eating them." Derek said, pointing at her accusingly. Mysterious livestock disappearances _solved_. At least some good was coming out of this. He was totally going to lord that over Stiles—oh shit. _Where the hell was Stiles?_

Before he could ask, Esmeralda said, "Yes, I have been," like it was no big deal she had been helping herself to thousands of dollars of livestock for weeks now. She came back down onto all fours and stretched her wings out, then folded them along her back and settled into a loaf shape. "Sometimes I eat cows instead. They are much easier to catch."

"Right," Derek said, nodding along in agreement before he realized that was just strange. "So, what about my friend?" he asked, heart squeezing with fear of the answer. “The guy who was with me?”

"Oh, he's fine," Esmeralda said indifferently. "I left him behind." Her face scrunched down in an expression of disapproval. "He's very loud, and uses very bad language."

Derek nearly wilted with relief. She'd described Stiles perfectly, which meant he really had been alive and conscious when the dragon let him go. 

Now that Esmeralda had closed her wings, Derek was in the glaring sunlight, and his head was _pounding_. He scooted forward a little, close enough to get back into her shadow. "Why didn't you let me go, too? Why bring me here?" he asked, flexing his arms and legs experimentally, biting back a groan when he got to his left knee. If he'd broken anything, it was already mostly healed, but he ached everywhere.

"I need a prince," she announced, as if it were obvious. "And you're very handsome," she added, bumping his chest with her nose and almost sending him sprawling. "For a human."

"Aw, crap," Derek said, flopping the rest of the way down onto the grass all on his own. "I’m not a prince," he said, staring bleakly at the bright blue sky. "So you can just take me back where you found me."

Esmeralda's head came back into view as she loomed over him. "I think you're lying to me," she said, narrowing suspicious eyes at him. They were the same color as her belly. She flicked her tongue out like she was tasting the air, and he wondered if she could smell emotions the way werewolves could. "I saw your eyes. They're beautiful! You must be a prince."

He'd flashed his eyes at the ostriches, Derek remembered, when they'd charged. Turned out ostriches were not that easily intimidated.

"That's not—" Derek started to say, but he was cut off by Esmeralda daintily petting his head with the pad of one of her clawed toes. He held very still, aware she could crush his skull like a grape without even trying. "That's not what my eyes mean," he finished weakly.

"They're beautiful. _You're_ beautiful," she cooed, then sighed dreamily. "And you're mine."

Aw, crap.

~*~

Derek lay in the grass, hating his life, until Esmeralda got bored with admiring him and settled down a small distance away to sun herself, content to blink lazily at him from afar. It made Derek a little self-conscious, her enormous purple eyeball following his every movement as he slowly sat up and cracked his neck, scrubbed at the dried blood on his arm. He still felt a little unsteady, but not in danger of passing out or falling down. He took his first good look around and realized they were in a canyon--where else would an enormous dragon hide, really?--which explained the rock walls.

With Esmeralda fully stretched out and Derek far enough away to see all of her, he decided she looked a little like an overgrown komodo dragon with wings. She was actually pretty cool looking, and he'd probably appreciate that a lot more if she hadn't abducted him. Stiles would have had a million questions for her, Derek thought. He would have freaking loved a chance to talk to a dragon. He'd probably also talk her into letting them go. Derek really wished Stiles were here.

But he wasn't, so Derek was either gonna have to wait to get rescued or find a way out of here all by himself. All he had with him was the clothes he'd been wearing at the time, minus his jacket. He had a sudden, fleeting memory of dangling in the air before slipping out of his jacket, plummeting toward the ground, and then nothing. Had she picked him up and then accidentally dropped him? That would certainly explain why he felt so battered.

Either way, he didn’t have his jacket. He checked his pants pockets. He had his wallet, a handful of change, a Swiss Army knife, and a Burt's Bees lip balm. 

His phone had been in his jacket pocket, so there went calling for help. Not that he would have had much chance of getting a signal here anyway. Stiles sometimes joked about implanting a tracking device in Derek, due to his tendency to get kidnapped. Far too late, Derek decided that actually wasn't a bad idea.

Esmeralda didn’t try to stop him when Derek got gingerly to his feet and started moving around, but she didn’t take her eye off of him either. That was fine. Derek could still assess the situation, maybe find a way out he could utilize later. Dragons had to sleep sometime.

The canyon was longer than it was wide, narrowing slightly at one end, with a floor that was carpeted with soft grass interspersed here and there with rocky outcroppings, and even a few huge boulders. At the narrow end of the canyon a waterfall came down over the edge and splashed into a small pond, providing a constant source of fresh water. From the pond a small stream ran all the way down the length of the canyon, cutting it roughly in half. He could see the appeal of this place for a dragon.

One ear trained on Esmeralda, Derek wandered slowly around the perimeter of the canyon, examining everything in a way he hoped passed for harmless curiosity while secretly looking for an escape route. 

There didn't appear to be one. The walls were pretty much sheer vertical, easily a hundred feet high or more, and as Derek walked along them he spied a few nooks and crannies at ground level, but nothing that was remotely an exit. At the pond he stopped and drank, then dunked his head and scrubbed at his hair and face a little before he rinsed the blood off his arm. That made him feel a little better, and a little more alert. Enough to keep going, anyway.

Shaking the water out of his hair, Derek skirted the outer edge of the pond, then tracked the other wall, where he found an opening, a jagged hole roughly the size of a garage door with a few big rocks jumbled around the entrance. He cautiously stepped inside, and realized it was an honest-to-God cave, the ceiling rising up, spreading out to either side to form a single echoey room. There was what looked like a huge pile of trash just inside the entrance.

"That's my hoard!" Esmeralda suddenly said, making Derek jump. When he looked over his shoulder, she was making her way across the grass toward him. She even moved like a komodo, Derek thought. “It’s full of treasure!”

"This stuff?" Derek asked, stepping closer to the pile. He knew that in the old myths and legends sometimes dragons had hoards, but they were usually gold and jewels. There didn’t appear to be any gold in this one.

He could see what looked like pieces of chrome—random bumpers and tailpipes—and one of those silver reflective things you put in the windshield of your car to keep it cool inside. The rest looked like a jumble of random junk. A bright red and yellow plastic Little Tikes car she'd probably stolen from some little kid. An orange gazing ball like Derek's grandma used to have in her flowerbed. A lime green plastic Adirondack chair. From what he could tell, dragons liked shiny things and bright colors. Gold and jewels, suburban America style.

Esmeralda was at the entrance now, blocking most of the light as she stuck her head inside. Derek flared his eyes so he could see the back of the cave a little better, and then regretted it when she made a pleased sound. He’d forgotten about her fascination with his eyes.

Even worse, a quick look proved the cave to be a dead end. No way through. He turned back toward the hoard.

"It's yours now, too," Esmeralda said proudly. "We'll share it."

"Great," Derek said, not bothering with enthusiasm. "Thanks."

If Esmeralda noticed his lack of excitement, it didn’t bother her. She withdrew her head and Derek came back out into the sunshine wincing as the pain in his head ratcheted up again in the bright light. What he wouldn’t give for a cheeseburger and a few hours on a nice soft couch.

Esmeralda wandered away to drink from the pond while Derek stood near the entrance to the cave and took a look at the stream, which flowed past him, all the way down to the other end of the canyon where it disappeared beneath an enormous pile of rocks and uprooted trees that formed the wall on that side. Derek was no geologist, but he’d bet his left nut that wasn’t natural, and certainly hadn’t happened by coincidence. Esmeralda had blocked off that end to make herself a nice sheltered den here in the canyon, with fresh running water, lots of sunshine, and limited access by outsiders.

As he wandered that way he saw a few tell-tale holes in the ground, raw brown dirt showing where trees and rocks had no doubt been before she plucked them up and used them to build her wall. Unlike the smoother natural walls of the canyon, the wall of boulders would be easy enough to climb. He just needed a chance to do it, when she wasn't watching him.

“It’s nap time,” Esmeralda said when she came lumbering back from the pond, yawning. She said it as if she were slightly annoyed that he was keeping her awake, which Derek didn’t feel one bit guilty about. And the sooner she went to sleep, the sooner he could scale that wall and get the hell out of here.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he said, and then wanted to swear out loud when she walked past him and settled herself down right in front of the boulder wall. There went _that_ idea.

Derek tried not to look disappointed as he turned to walk away, not wanting to tip her off. He barely took a step before Esmeralda hooked him in her big, scaly paw and gently dragged him back toward her. Struggling was useless—and possibly would lead to injury—so Derek grudgingly let her do it, and cooperated when she used her nose to nudge him back under her outstretched wing. Grumbling, he took the hint and sat down. 

“That’s better,” she said with audible satisfaction, and then sighed heavily as she got comfortable, shifting a little but being very careful to not squish Derek, which he appreciated.

Well, at least he was in the shade. His head was still hurting a little.

Derek didn’t particularly feel like napping—he’d just regained consciousness a few minutes ago—but he was all for Esmeralda going to sleep, so he stretched out on the grass on his back, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. He could hear her heart beating, a deep, heavy thump that seemed impossibly slow. His probably beat three times to every one of hers.

Long minutes ticked by. Bees and butterflies zoomed around the canyon, birds chittered to each other, and finally Esmeralda’s breathing slowed and evened. When Derek was as sure as he could be that she was soundly asleep, he crept out from under her wing.

Since this end of the canyon wasn’t an option, he moved as quietly as he could toward the other, this time looking more closely for a path to the top. On the wall opposite the cave, some fifty feet or so above Derek's head, was what looked like a small shelf where the wall cut in before continuing up. It was about twenty feet wide, though Derek couldn't tell how deep it was from this angle. More than enough to sit on, he guessed. It'd be a nice resting spot, a place halfway up to take a break. The canyon walls here were straight vertical, but not entirely smooth, and Derek had claws. He could probably climb his way out.

He put on some lip balm, flexed his hands as he extended his claws, and started climbing. With any luck, he’d be back home by dinner time.

That turned out to be a little optimistic, not just because the climbing was hard, but because he needed to be as quiet as possible. The wall wasn’t exactly littered with nicely spaced outcroppings to grab onto, and as he fought his way up little pebbles and chunks of rock began to fall, pitter pattering to the ground below him. If she woke up…

A few arduous and terrifying minutes later he wasn’t even halfway up to the resting point, and he was already regretting that he’d decided to do this when he was still weak. Now in addition to having a headache, his stomach hurt, he was dizzy, and his arms felt roughly as strong as bendy straws. 

As he stretched desperately to reach a horizontal crack that looked just big enough to hook his claws into, the small outcropping holding up his left foot gave way in a shower of rock that set off another one below it. Derek managed to hang on, dangling from the cliff wall by just his claws, but the damage was done—the noise had roused Esmeralda, who looked around and then squawked angrily when she saw him.

There was no way he could make it to the top before she reached him, so all he could do was hang there while she stalked toward him, tail whipping back and forth. 

She plucked him off the wall like a wayward cat caught climbing the drapes and set him down in the grass. "You are very naughty," she said, lowering her head all the way down to rest on the ground in front of him, so he could feel the full weight of her disapproving stare. 

"You can't just keep me here," he snapped, frustrated. The look on Esmeralda’s face said, _The hell I can’t_. "I have to get back to my friends. They're gonna be looking for me."

"You'll just have explain to them that you're my prince now," she said, like that settled it.

"I don’t _want_ to be your prince. And I can't live here with you," he said, though this was a lot nicer than some of the places he'd lived right after he came back to Beacon Hills. "Humans live in houses."

Esmeralda was undeterred. "You can live in the cave. It's big enough for a prince, and full of treasure." With that, she marched back to her spot in front of the boulder wall and settled down again.

Feeling discouraged, Derek sat down on a flat rock to brood for a bit. Contrary to what Stiles thought, it did help sometimes.

~*~

Being a prince was kind of boring, Derek decided a few hours later. Esmeralda apparently spent a lot of time napping, and there wasn’t anything else for Derek to do but sit and contemplate just how terrible his luck was, which he could do anywhere, honestly. He didn’t need to be kidnapped for that to happen.

When the sun began to go down, Esmeralda finally roused herself and Derek watched in fascination as she went through a prolonged grooming process, much like a cat or a bird, using her tongue and her paws and even her wings to scrub and scratch at just about every inch of her hide. She was surprisingly flexible for such a big animal.

By the time she was finished it was almost fully dark. She stood, stretched, shook her wings out and said, "I have to leave now, but I'll be back as fast as I can." 

“All right,” Derek said, trying not to sound too excited. This was exactly the chance for escape he’d been hoping for since he woke up here.

Or not. 

No sooner had he envisioned his imminent freedom when she nudged him off his brooding rock with her nose, gently but firmly propelling him toward the cave. 

“You can wait for me in here,” she said, in a tone that brooked no arguments, and gave him one final push that sent him into the cave, stumbling a little. He turned back around just in time to see her pick up one of the giant boulders littering the canyon and seal the cave entrance with it like a cork. Derek was immediately plunged into absolute, total darkness. Even flaring his eyes did nothing. There was no ambient light to pick up at all.

“Hey! No, wait!” Derek yelled, shuffling forward, hands outstretched. “I can’t see! I can’t—“ 

“I’ll be back soon!” he heard her call, and then the muted sound of her wings flapping as she took flight and was gone. 

“Fuck!” he yelled, and shoved at the boulder when his hands made contact with it, but it didn’t move even the tiniest bit. “ _Fucking fuck_.” 

He was trapped. Trapped worse than he’d been out there in the canyon, where he at least had water, and where he could at least see. But in here…if something happened to her, if she didn’t come back, he would die in here, slowly and unpleasantly.

He practically beat himself bloody again trying to get the boulder to move, or break it into pieces, or something, but it was all in vain. It was just too big, even for werewolf strength. Punching and scratching it only succeeded in chipping little pieces off of it and exhausting him.

Defeated, he slumped down to lean against it and waited for her to come back, which she eventually did, what felt like hours later. Still in a sulk, he refused to come out when she opened the entrance for him.

“I’m sleeping in here,” he declared, and set about digging through the hoard for something he could use to make a bed. Esmeralda snorted in annoyance and clawed at the dirt in front of the cave, but she didn’t force him to come out. It was dark, probably still the middle of the night, but the waning moon gave him plenty of light to see by.

Deep in the middle of the hoard was a red and blue Spider-Man blanket, cheap and scratchy polyester that smelled like mice, but it would do for now. Toward the back he found the cushion from a chaise pool lounger that looked brand new except for what were probably punctures from dragon claws in it. Under the cushion was a slightly crushed Costco-sized box of granola bars. The mice had gotten to some of them already, but several were still sealed and perfectly fine. He grabbed those, too.

By the time he ate two granola bars and got his makeshift bed set up along the back wall of the cave, Esmeralda had settled in front of the entrance, stretched out on her belly like an overgrown dog. There was no way he’d get past without waking her up but that didn’t matter. He was staying right here.

The chaise cushion was too small, the blanket even smaller. Derek tucked himself into a ball and closed his eyes.

~*~

He slept like a log, probably more because his body needed the rest than because he was comfortable, and woke up hungry. That wasn’t exactly unusual, especially after an injury; healing burned a lot of energy. He fumbled around until he found one of the granola bars and ate it in two bites, and then regretted that he hadn’t waited until he had some water to go with it.

He got up slowly, cracking his neck, stretching a little. Esmeralda wasn’t in front of the cave anymore, but was sunning herself nearby, and lifted her head when he came trudging out of the cave.

“Good morning!” she said excitedly. The forked tip of her tongue darted out and touched his face, quick like a kiss. He glared at her as he rubbed the wet spot she left, but deep down it kind of made him feel good to have someone greet him so enthusiastically in the morning, like they were happy to see him, even if it was a dragon who was holding him hostage. Sad, but true.

“Morning,” he said roughly. He really needed some water.

Thank God there was a supply of it. He made his way over to the pond and took a nice long drink, then rinsed his grimy face and hair again. All that accomplished was making him aware of how dirty the rest of him was, including his clothes.

Well, there was no one around.

He stripped quickly and waded into the pond, which was shallow at this end and deep enough to cover his head at the other. It was cool, but not horribly cold. He scooped up a couple handfuls of sand and used them to scrub at his skin, then swam around a little to rinse off. The water smelled and tasted clean, and he drank again before he waded back over to his clothes and rinsed them out as best he could.

Even after he squeezed as much water out of them as possible they were still sodden and heavy, so he laid them out to dry on a nearby rock, flat and wide as a king-sized mattress. The sun was already up, the rock warm. They’d hopefully dry quickly.

When he finished and turned back around, Esmeralda had lifted her head and was looking at him curiously. 

“Oh!” she said, shuffling closer without getting to her feet. “Is this what you really look like?”

“I…guess?” Derek said, looking down at himself. He couldn’t imagine how humans looked to dragons—probably small and squishy and weird. “I took my clothes off,” he explained. “To wash them.”

Esmeralda nodded like she understood. “I bet they’re uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want to be covered up all the time.”

“I don’t mi—“ Derek started, and then made a noise that sounded embarrassingly like a squeak when her tongue flickered over his bare chest, then down his stomach and thighs. 

He instinctively moved to protect the goods with his hands, but she didn’t seem any more or less interested in what was between his legs than the rest of him. She gave all his newly bared skin a cursory investigation and then settled back down, rubbing the side of her face against her front foot like she was scratching an itch before she closed her eyes again. 

So their relationship was platonic, apparently, which was a bit of a relief, because he wasn't quite sure what she'd expected from a "prince," and the logistics had been a little terrifying.

Derek wandered back into the cave and used the blanket to dry off, then carried it back outside to lay it on the rock with his clothes. If he ended up spending another night here, it wasn’t gonna be in a damp blanket. His stomach felt hollow, and he could actually feel the water sloshing around in his belly when he walked. He really needed something more substantial than granola bars.

But a quick search confirmed there was nothing to eat here, no fruit trees or bushes. There were birds around, and some squirrels and bunnies from what he could scent, but there was no way he was going there. Derek had caught and killed a chipmunk once as a kid, and then been horrified, run crying to his mother. As much as the humans liked to joke about the werewolves catching and eating little furry things, Derek didn't know anyone who did that, and he didn't want to do it now. Plus, raw meat was gross. Derek didn't even like sushi. 

Esmeralda was still sunbathing in the grass, but she opened an eye and rumbled in friendly greeting when he approached.

“Listen, you really need to let me go," Derek said. Her friendly manner immediately changed to a disgruntled look that plainly said, _Great, not this again_. For a second it was so Stiles-like he felt right at home. "If you keep me here, I'll starve to death. I need food." He wasn’t in danger of starving to death anytime soon, but a little exaggeration would only help his cause.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, lifting her head. She looked contrite, and a little embarrassed. Derek would wager it had never occurred to her that she needed to feed him. "I'm sorry. Should I bring you back an ostrich?"

"Um, no," Derek said. He wasn't sure what was worse to consider—her bringing back a pissed off live ostrich and dumping it in the canyon with him, or gifting him with a limp dead one that would rot in the sun where Derek couldn't get away from the stench. "I need _human_ food. The kind you buy at a store.”

She tilted her head at him, like she was considering this information. "How much?"

Derek was stumped for a moment. Finally, he just circled his arms like he was holding a basketball and said, "This much." 

It was as vague as could be, but Esmeralda only nodded. “How often do you eat?”

"Every day," he said, stupefied. Didn't she know this about people? 

Esmeralda was shocked. "Every day?" she asked, wings lifting off her back and then hovering there, like the world’s largest set of shocked eyebrows.

"Actually, three times a day," Derek amended.

" _Three times_ a day?" She shook her head as if she couldn't believe her ears, but when he didn’t confess to joking, she stretched out her neck, nosing at him. Her tongue prodded at his ribs. "How are you so scrawny if you eat that much?"

This was the only time in his adult life Derek could ever remember being referred to as scrawny. Stiles would die if he knew. Biting back a laugh, Derek shrugged. "It's just how we are, I guess."

"Hrmph. I didn't realize having a prince was so much work," she said, snapping her wings in irritation.

Well, Derek wasn’t going to just let that opening pass him by. "You can always let me go," he suggested.

"No," Esmeralda said stubbornly, tail twitching like an annoyed cat. "You are my prince, and I am your dragon, and since you are tiny and defenseless I must take care of you. So I will."

Now he was scrawny _and_ defenseless. Stiles would _die_.

"I need something _soon_ ," he stressed. His stomach chose that moment to gurgle, loudly. Just talking about the concept of food was making him even more hungry.

Dragon hearing was pretty sharp, he guessed, because Esmeralda clearly heard it. “Oh, you _are_ hungry!” she said, tapping his belly with her tongue. She shifted a little, looked up at the sky, and then said, sounding anxious, “I don’t usually leave the canyon until the sun goes down. It’s not safe. Can you wait?”

“I suppose,” Derek said. What other choice did he have, really? And he had a few granola bars left, though he wanted to keep some emergency rations around if possible.

“I will bring you lots of food,” she proclaimed, and rubbed the side of her snout against his body, nearly knocking him over. 

Derek spent a long, miserably hungry day doing a whole lot of nothing but dozing naked in the shade of Esmeralda’s wings and checking to see if his clothes were dry yet. Sometime in the afternoon he caved and ate another granola bar. He was still feeling off, and suspected his body wasn’t able to heal all the way because it lacked the fuel. 

Luckily, Esmeralda was true to her word. As the sun began to set she started grooming herself, which Derek took as his cue to get back into his slightly damp clothes. When it was nearly full dark she nudged him into the cave again and put the rock in place. This time he knew enough to get over to his bed before all the light was cut off, and he heard the soft _whomp whomp_ of her taking flight as he crawled under his mousy blanket. He waited for her to come back, but she didn’t, not for a long time, and eventually he fell asleep.

He was already awake again and wondering why he hadn’t thought to store some water in the cave when he finally heard her return, the whoosh of her gliding down into the canyon more a change in air pressure against his ears than an actual sound. Derek got to his feet and shuffled blindly toward what he hoped was the entrance. He was standing there rubbing his face when Esmeralda shoved the boulder carelessly aside, revealing that it was nearly dawn, a gray and misty morning. 

"Derek! Wake up!" she said, excitement in her voice. Her tongue peeked out and touched his chest. "I brought you some food!"

Derek was, by now, absolutely ravenous, but he also wasn't sure he wanted to see what was waiting for him. An ostrich? Someone's pet cat?

He didn't expect a Safeway shopping cart, loaded with reusable shopping bags filled to the brim with groceries. For a second he pictured her lumbering down the aisles in the store before sanity set in and he noticed the cart was pretty badly bent.

He looked over at Esmeralda, who was literally quivering in anticipation. Her forefeet were shifting restlessly on the ground, claws digging furrows in the grass.

"Did you steal this from someone?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Yes! I'm providing for you!" she said proudly, dipping her wings in a little flourish. Derek could only imagine the scene in the Safeway parking lot. What would you even tell the cops? 

As bad as Derek felt for the mystery person who had purchased all those groceries, survival was survival. He wheeled the cart over to his brooding rock and started unloading the bags, and then separating everything into piles. His mood lightened with every bag he dug through—this was a bonanza.

There was some meat, which was going to spoil pretty quickly, so he'd have to eat that right away. Some fruit—apples, bananas, mangos—and a bunch of stuff to make a salad. That wouldn’t last long without a fridge, either. The avocados would keep a while, and there was also some bread, a jar of peanut butter, and some orange marmalade. A package of fake cheese slices, another of bologna, and several kinds of pudding cups. He ripped into a bag of potato chips and shoved a couple handfuls in his mouth while he unpacked the last bag, which held a six pack of beer, a jar of Lawry's, a bottle of contact lens solution, and a box of tampons.

"What are those?" Esmeralda asked, zeroing in on the bright pink tampon box immediately, a gleam in her eye. 

"They're…for women," Derek hedged. "You want 'em?"

"Yes!" she said instantly.

He set the box in her paw and she carried it over to her pile of junk and took a little time deciding where to put it, fussing over the placement until she had it just so. 

Meanwhile, Derek stuck the beer in the pond to chill and gathered some dry wood to make a fire. After thinking about it for a second, he made a ring out of small rocks and stacked all the wood in there, along with some dry grass for tinder. Now came the hard part.

Derek had been a terrible Boy Scout, always frustrated with the other kids who were too weak or too slow or couldn’t tell what kind of animal tracks they were looking at when Derek could plainly smell it was a raccoon. He still had a vague recollection of how to get a fire started, though. 

Using one of his boot laces, his knife, and a few pieces of wood, he fashioned a bow drill and started working away, trying to get an ember going. Esmeralda watched the whole assembly process, and then after he’d sweated away with the drill for a few minutes asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to start a fire so I can cook that meat,” Derek puffed. He could see smoke; he was getting close.

“That’s how humans start fire?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, not all the time. But I don’t have a lighter or matches or—holy shit!” he yelled and flung himself back as Esmeralda opened her mouth and flames shot out of it, directly at his campfire ring. 

“So…that’s how dragons start fire?” Derek asked shakily, blinking. His eyebrows felt singed and his carefully piled campfire was now just a pile of ashes. She’d incinerated everything in two seconds. Derek…probably would have been a little more polite to her from the get-go if he’d known she could do that.

Esmeralda was puffed up with pride, beaming at her handiwork. “Yes! It’s much faster.”

It _was_ much faster, and a lot less work for Derek. He quickly got up and gathered more wood and started all over again getting it piled how he wanted it. From there it only took a minute to get it burning, with the help of some more dried grass and an ember he found in his poor destroyed fire pit. In just a few minutes the fire was crackling away, and he was one step closer to having a hot meal. He held his hands up to the flames and let the warmth seep into his skin.

Derek wasn’t actually cold, but there something comforting about having a fire here. Maybe because it reminded him of full moon bonfires when he was a kid, or maybe it just made his living conditions seem a touch less primitive. Either way, the fire was nice. And practical—the package of steaks awaited him.

An hour and a lot of swearing later, Derek realized cooking meat over a campfire was not as easy as movies had led him to believe, unless you actually liked it charred black on the outside and bloody raw on the inside, which he did not. He scarfed down both steaks anyway, plus a salad he hacked up with his knife and ate out of a huge silver trophy cup he found in the hoard. For dessert he had a banana smeared with peanut butter.

Esmeralda watched him the whole time, seemingly enthralled by the vegetables and the banana, though she declined all his various offers to taste but one. The face she made when she investigated the peanut butter jar with a tongue tip was photo worthy, if he’d only had his phone.

While he ate, he told Esmeralda about a group camping trip he’d gone on last summer with Scott’s pack, as some kind of friendship building exercise or something, Derek wasn’t sure. It had been a lot like this, swimming in a lake and cooking over a campfire, though they hadn’t tried anything as ambitious as steak. They’d eaten mostly hot dogs and s’mores for three days, and Stiles had insisted on cooking eggs in empty orange rinds, something he’d seen on the Internet, and they’d turned out terrible. No one had let him forget it since.

By the time he was done eating and cleaning up after himself, Derek’s headache was gone and his body felt back to normal. Today was already starting out more pleasantly than yesterday. He was still a captive, but he had water, and food, and fire, and shelter. He was okay.

He could get by just fine like this, but hoped he wouldn’t have to for long.

~*~

The food—at least the non-perishable stuff—lasted him a few days, and he rationed out the beer at a rate of two per night, figuring he needed something to look forward to besides pudding cups. He watched the boulder wall like a hawk, waiting for any unsupervised moment when he could make a break for it, but whether Esmeralda knew what he was thinking or simply favored that particular spot in the canyon, she never gave him the opening he waited for day after day. 

He made several more attempts to convince Esmeralda to let him go, all with no success, and then for one day tried being such a surly asshole that she’d want to get rid of him, but that didn’t work either. Eventually he just gave up. There was nothing to do but wait to get rescued, which seemed to be taking a lot longer—over a week now, maybe?—than Derek imagined it would. If he was going to be stuck here with Esmeralda, he might as well do what he could to get along with her.

Esmeralda left for a few hours every night, patrolling her territory or hunting, and often came back with more "treasure" for her hoard, which Derek dutifully enthused over before helping her find the perfect placement for it in the pile. Every few days she replenished his food supply, and one memorable night she came back with a shopping cart in one paw for Derek and a half-dead pig in the other for herself, and announced they would eat together. Dragons only ate every three days or so, he’d learned, for which he was grateful, because he wasn’t sure he could sit through that on a daily basis.

Derek was up early every morning, waking with the birds that cheeped non-stop at the first hint of dawn, and he often was forced to crawl over Esmeralda to get out of the cave; she was not an early riser. He’d built himself a bathroom in a corner of the canyon with walls of stolen shopping carts, where he kept a few toiletries he’d collected from the supplies Esmeralda brought him. There was also a pantry/kitchen area in the cave now where he stored his food and a couple cooking utensils he’d improvised. He didn’t think he was doing too badly for himself, given his limited access to things most people took for granted, like toilet paper and forks.

The days were by turns surreal and repetitive. He didn’t have all that much to do except eat, skinny dip, wash his clothes on a rock, and sit around being princely. He wasn’t exactly sure how to do that last one, but Esmeralda seemed satisfied with his performance.

She didn't seem to want much from him but company, and a little affection. He’d learned to tell when she was about to rub her face on him like an over-sized cat, and could usually brace himself well enough to stay upright, and give her snout a little scratch, just to see the tip of her tail quiver with pleasure.

Sometimes when the sun was at its highest she would grunt and heave herself over until she was belly up in the grass, all four legs in the air, to bask in the sun. Lacking any kind of furniture save rocks and the chaise cushion, Derek took to using her instead, and would sprawl face down on her stomach like a little pink starfish to let the sun warm his back. He didn’t sleep well at night when she was gone, always a little worried she might not come back, so the naps were welcome and she was pretty comfortable. Firm and a little bouncy, like the trampoline Derek's family had had when he was a kid. The slow rise and fall of her belly beneath him had a lulling effect that put him right out. It was a good thing he was immune to sunburn.

Between naps they had a lot of time to talk, since there wasn’t much else to do, and they only had each other for company. She told him a lot of things he’d never known about dragons, like how their social structure operated—nothing like werewolves, he was not at all surprised to learn. They were purely matriarchal, and lived solitary lives once they’d reached adulthood. Female dragons only raised one offspring at a time.

Esmeralda, from what he could tell, was a bit of a daring trailblazer, having claimed a territory surrounded by so much human civilization. He suspected the easy access to ostriches and other delicacies was a motivating factor, and hoped she didn’t put that info out on the dragon grapevine or soon California was going to be over-run with dragons.

She was also, he found out, young by dragon standards. 

“I’m only seven hundred and forty-two years old, and I already have my own hoard and my own nest and my own prince!” she told him one afternoon while Derek was washing his lunch dishes in the stream.

“Really?” Derek said, and actually felt a little swell of pride that his dragon was exceptional—the Stockholm Syndrome was setting in really early, it seemed. “How long does that usually take?”

“My mother was one thousand and sixteen when she made her own nest, and _she_ doesn’t have a prince at all,” she said, grandly fanning her wings. “Not all dragons do, you know.”

Derek didn’t know, but he agreed anyway. He could tell just by the way she was looking at him what was coming next, so he held still and submitted to having his shaggy head petted with the tip of a toe, then obligingly flashed his eyes at her, which never failed to make Esmeralda sigh in blissful contentment. 

He couldn’t really think of another time in his life when it had been so easy to make someone else happy, just by existing. She asked so little of him, only that he be himself. It was frighteningly easy to imagine living the rest of his life like this, being pampered and adored by a dragon. Even more frighteningly, it was getting harder and harder to remember what was so appealing about his old life, what he had had there that couldn’t be replaced here. Internet porn was often the only thing that came to mind. That, and maybe a few people he knew…

Done petting him, Esmeralda now wanted to cuddle. She urged him closer with her nose while extending a foreleg for him to sit on, until he climbed up and settled there, leaning against the side of her head. Her eye blinked slowly, then even more slowly.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” he said, nudging her face with his elbow. “I want to know more about princes.” And Stiles would love to hear about it, when everyone finally showed up here to rescue him.

She grumbled a little—the only thing dragons loved more than princes was naps, as far as Derek could tell—but told him all about it anyway. Apparently having a prince--or a princess--had been much more common long ago, before human weapons got advanced enough to force dragons to retreat to the remotest parts of the Earth. In some parts of the world, humans had provided dragons with food and shelter and companionship in exchange for protection. Derek didn’t think that was such a bad arrangement. Beacon Hills could use a big guardian dragon, honestly.

Something to remember for later. How much later, he was beginning to wonder.

~*~

As curious as Derek was about dragons, Esmeralda was equally curious about humans.

She wanted to know everything about them, from how babies were made—she was aghast to learn that mothers carried their babies around inside their bodies until they “hatched”—to why people enjoyed travelling in little metal boxes. Derek answered her questions and, when he noticed her avid attention, started telling some stories about his life. He left out vast swathes of his own personal history, obviously, but he had no shortage of other material. What Esmeralda really enjoyed was pedestrian stuff, hearing about everyday minutia, and that was easy enough to talk about.

Derek had never really considered himself to be a talkative guy, but now that he was all alone with no one but an attentive dragon for company, he found himself almost unable to _stop_ talking. Every time he was reminded of something that had happened in his life, it just came right out of his mouth.

“…and I _told_ Stiles not to touch that toad,” he said as he wrung pond water out of his jeans one afternoon. One of Esmeralda’s stolen carts had contained a brick of Irish Spring, so he could actually wash his clothes—and himself—with soap now. “But did he listen? _No_ , because he never listens—“

“Who is Stiles?” Esmeralda asked abruptly.

That made Derek shut his mouth mid-sentence. He hadn’t even realized he was talking about Stiles until Esmeralda interrupted him. And that was a long, complicated story he was _not_ getting into.

“He’s my friend,” he said after a moment, busying himself spreading his jeans out to dry on the laundry rock. That was the truth, he supposed. They were friends, and nothing more.

“You must be good friends. You talk about him a lot. I hope he’s nicer than the friend you were with when I found you,” she sniffed. “I don’t think he’s nice at all.”

“Um, yes,” Derek said, not caring to explain that Stiles actually _was_ that friend, sometimes he definitely wasn’t nice, and that was one of the things Derek liked about him, God help him.

“His father is a knight?” she asked, throwing Derek for a loop. He didn’t remember mentioning Stiles’ dad, but he must have. Esmeralda’s terminology was a little off but she’d gotten the gist of the idea. “Knights are brave and strong! Does your friend want to be a knight, too?”

“Yeah, actually,” Derek said, and launched into the complicated and sort of hilarious story of Stiles and his long and winding trip toward a college degree in law enforcement.

Or maybe it was only hilarious to Derek, he conceded, when he heard Esmeralda start to snore.

~*~

The weather settled into true summer, and during the day it was so warm in the canyon that he gave up on getting fully dressed, spending most of his days sitting around in his underwear, or naked if it was his day to wash them. There was little point to modesty.

Being a prince was still kind of boring, but also, Derek was finding, kind of relaxing. No one tried to kill him, or sent him on weird errands, or seduced him for nefarious reasons. There were no bills to pay, no spam emails. His beard was getting long and so was his hair, and it didn’t really matter. Maybe a pair of scissors would turn up in one of the shopping carts. He already had a pile of light bulbs and gift cards he had no use for, so it could happen. And if it didn’t, that was okay, too. Esmeralda certainly didn’t care.

The days continued to tick by, and no one came for him.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad living here with a dragon, Derek thought one night while lying on his chaise cushion. He didn't have a pack anymore, just kind of hung around on the edges of Scott's. He didn't have any friends, really, who weren't Scott's friends. Cora was probably never coming back and Peter was hopefully never coming back. There was Stiles, who was also part of Scott's pack and—

Derek rolled over and pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. Stiles was just someone Derek knew, who was probably trying to find him even though he had no idea Derek was pathetically in love with him.

Or maybe he _did_ have an idea, and that was why he’d said—

Derek huffed and flipped over onto his other side again, and tried not to think about it, but it was too late. He’d already relived it in his mind a million times, and it never got any less painful, that night at Boyd’s birthday party when they’d gone out onto the porch together and there’d been a moment when they might have kissed.

They’d been sitting close on the porch swing, Stiles barely keeping it moving with a toe, and it had been just like something out of a movie, them talking a little, then laughing, then going quiet, looking at each other, slowly leaning toward each other. Derek hadn’t been able to breathe, could feel his heart pounding in his ears as Stiles closed his eyes, mouth parting the tiniest bit…and then Scott had come crashing through the screen door yelling, “Jell-O shots!”

Stiles had jerked back, eyes suddenly wide, and then bolted up off the swing like it was electrified. His voice had been a little too enthused when he said, “Dude, gimme one!”

Scott had happily obliged, plucking one off the tray balanced on his palm, and then offering one to Derek, who had declined with a shake of his head, swallowing down his disappointment.

Stiles had slurped down the shot, proclaimed it delicious, and then told Scott they needed to make sure Erica got one, too. He’d spun Scott around and shoved him toward the door, and for a second Derek’s chest had swelled with hope that he was getting rid of Scott so they could be alone again, but then Stiles followed Scott back into the house and was gone. He hadn’t looked at Derek at all, not once.

As the screen door thwacked shut behind them, Derek heard Stiles say, low enough that he probably thought Derek wouldn’t hear, “Dude, you showed up just in time. I almost did something really dumb,” and Derek’s heart had sunk right down to his feet.

Kissing Derek would have been dumb. A _mistake_. At least in Stiles’ eyes. 

Derek had tried to get over it, but it was sore spot that he couldn’t quite stop picking at, and he couldn’t seem to stay away from Stiles, either, and he couldn’t make himself stop wanting him.

That night with the ostriches had been the first time they’d been alone together in weeks. It had been excruciatingly awkward for the first few minutes, both of them trying to avoid eye contact and make stupid small talk. Then they’d found the ostrich farm, and the angry ostriches, and they’d been too busy running for their lives to remember things were weird. 

But that didn’t change anything. The situation was what it was.

And now Derek was a kept man, and nothing about his old life mattered anymore anyway. It didn’t.

~*~

The next night was the full moon, which meant it was coming up on a month that Derek had been here. It felt a lot longer. 

It was time to face the truth: if Scott and his friends were going to rescue him, they probably would have already. Derek was definitely still in California—the receipts in the grocery bags told him that—and likely less than a day’s drive from Beacon Hills. Maybe they’d assumed he was dead, and weren’t even looking for him. Maybe that was for the best. It’d solve a lot of problems for everyone.

The weather was warm and the sky was clear that night, so Derek banked the fire and sat with Esmeralda, who had declined to leave the canyon. She claimed dragons never flew during the full moon if they could help it—it was just too bright. Derek lay on her back, in the slight groove between her wings, and looked up at the moon and told her stories about his family. 

The moon was making him feel nostalgic, he supposed. In the beginning he’d kept the fact that he was a werewolf secret, not wanting to tip his hand, and now it seemed inconsequential. There was still plenty of stuff to tell her anyway, about the big meals, and the bonfires, Lupercalia and Beltane. She didn’t know that what Derek’s family did was any different from other people.

When he lapsed into silence, she began to talk about a dragon gathering she was looking forward to, though not this year, she said, as she wasn’t old enough yet. 

“How old is that?” Derek asked, wondering if he’d be required to go along.

“Nine hundred,” she replied airily. So that was a big no. Werewolves were long-lived by human standards, but not by that much. He wasn’t sure if Esmeralda was aware that Derek’s entire life was going to pass by in what would feel like the blink of an eye for her, and telling her that seemed like it’d be really depressing, so he decided not to.

“What happens there?” he asked instead.

“We fight!” she said, sounding enthused about the idea, while Derek winced. The claws, the teeth, the fire. It had to be deadly.

“Fight over what?” he asked. Werewolf packs sometimes fought over territory, but even that was rare.

“Who you pair with,” she said. “But don’t worry, even if I choose another dragon to share my nest you’ll always be my prince. And I’m too young to pair with anyone right now anyway.”

“Oh, right,” Derek said. Only seven hundred and forty-two. She wasn’t just young, she was probably a teenager by dragon standards. By the time she was old enough to find a husband or a mate or whatever a dragon would call it, he’d be long gone. He’d never get to see what a little baby Esmeralda was like, he supposed. The thought was kind of a bummer.

He asked her about it, since he’d never witness it firsthand. Eggs, he was shocked to learn, took twenty-five years to mature and hatch. 

_I have to remember to tell Stiles about that_ , he thought, out of habit, and then shook it off. Thinking about Stiles still made him feel a little pang, but this was better, being away from him, doing his own thing. What easier way to move on than to _literally_ move on? And now he had Esmeralda, who was crazy about him.

He dozed off like that, on Esmeralda’s warm back, and woke up in the morning nestled snuggly under her folded wing. It was a damn sight more comfortable than his bed in the cave.

After that she didn’t bother to put him in the cave at night, even when she left, and he gave up the too tiny chaise cushion for sleeping on her instead. When she left to patrol and hunt, he would stay up, playing solitaire by the light of the fire with a pack of cards he’d been lucky enough to get in one of the carts. He stayed awake until she returned, and then they slept together under the stars for a few hours, until the birds inevitably woke him up.

It wasn’t until maybe a week or so had passed that way that he realized he’d now had many, many opportunities to scale the boulder wall and get away, and it had never once occurred to him to leave.

~*~

Esmeralda stayed out later than usual the night before the next full moon, and came back with her belly big and fat from gorging on some poor bastard’s livestock all night. She was still dead to the world by the time Derek got up and went through his morning routine of bathroom and bathing, such as they were, and then started unpacking the shopping cart she’d brought back for him. 

Today’s haul was from Wal-Mart, and was short on food but had a lot of stuff like toothpaste—thank God—and some more tampons. If Derek had known just how fast those things flew off the shelves, he would have invested in Tampax stock instead of real estate. 

In another bag he found some canned vegetables—he did a silent fist pump—and a can of pie filling that he could use to make blueberry pancakes with the box of pancake mix he already had. Under a package of white sweat socks was some chewing tobacco, which he tossed in his discard pile, and a bag of mini Snickers bars. The last thing he pulled out was a pair of men’s underwear that were, miraculously enough, his waist size.

They were obnoxiously colored—neon orange, of all things—and not what Derek would normally pick for himself, but he was glad just to have extra. Owning only one pair was kind of a pain, and they were starting to look a little ragged.

When he opened the new ones, though, something didn’t look right. They were boxer briefs, which was his preferred style, but they looked…kind of short. He checked the package again, and sure enough it said “Short Leg Style” right on the front, and even that was a bit of a stretch because the legs weren’t just short, they were almost non-existent. They were, frankly, what Stiles would call “booty shorts.”

Derek held them up and stared at them, then held them to his body and stared at them some more. His own underwear were going to start falling apart soon, but these sure weren’t going to cover much. On the other hand, the weather was warm, and there was no one around but Esmeralda, so what the hell. He skinned out of his own underwear and pulled on the new ones. Viva la booty shorts.

They were…kind of small. And not in the way he expected. The legs were shorter than he was used to, sure, but they also felt a little tight across his butt, and the elastic dug into his waist, which seemed a little softer than usual when he tried to adjust the shorts. Derek realized with a start that these long days of eating PB&Js and not doing much of anything else were catching up to him. Just because he was in a relationship now was no excuse for getting lazy and letting himself go.

There wasn’t much he could do about the food situation—he had to eat what was available and no refrigerator meant a lot of shelf-stable foods—but he had plenty of time to work out. And there was no time like the present. Before he had a single pancake, he was going to get some cardio and some push-ups done. And, he thought glumly, poking at his belly, definitely some crunches, too. A little muscle definition would help a lot. He found a nice shady spot to designate as his gym and got to work.

Esmeralda, when she woke up, was _completely baffled_.

“What are you _doing?_ ” she asked, staring at him like he’d gone mad.

“Exercising,” Derek grunted, eking out a few more push-ups before collapsing face-first into the grass, groaning. His arms were numb. 

“It looks unpleasant,” she said, poking him gently with one claw, perhaps trying to make sure he was still alive.

“No, it’s fun,” Derek panted, wiping sweat out of his eyes with a shaking hand.

“Pfffft,” Esmeralda said, not looking convinced. 

She followed him as he limped to the pond—he may have overdone the pistol squats, too—and watched as he stripped and waded into the water, which was blessedly cool. He dove down, came back up, drank deep, and then rolled over to float on his back.

Esmeralda was too big to fit in the pond, but she liked sticking her head in the water while Derek swam, pushing him around in circles or blowing bubbles in the water with her nose. Now she flattened herself down onto her belly and eased her head into the water, creating a wave that gently rocked Derek back and forth.

“Why were you doing that?” she asked, lifting up just enough to speak.

“To get in shape,” he said. At her blank look, he tried again. “To be strong, and look nice.”

“You already look nice!” she protested, sputtering a little. “Should I tell you how beautiful you are more often? I’ve heard you need to make sure your prince knows he is handsome and strong.” She dipped her head again and carefully slipped her nose under his side and rolled him over in the water, something she did when she was feeling playful. 

When Derek came back up, treading water, she was still right there. She stared into his eyes with one of her big purple ones and said, solemnly, “You are handsome and strong, and I would never get rid of you.” She tapped his chest with her tongue, a gesture Derek had long ago figured out was an affectionate one.

“Thanks,” he said, absurdly touched. He reached out and scratched her under her chin, one of her favorite spots, and she closed her eyes and rumbled, the dragon version of a purr. He spent a few minutes scratching her around her snout and chin, washing away some dried blood that was left from last night’s dinner. She was usually more fastidious than that—she must have really been tired when she got back from feeding.

This was a lot more pleasant than the last time he’d been in the water near a lizard. While he scrubbed around her eyes with fresh water he told her a little bit about being trapped in the pool by the kanima, leaving out the part about how the kanima came to exist in the first place. The story mostly focused on Stiles saving Derek’s life. They hadn’t even liked each other then. He left out that part, too.

She was intrigued by the kanima and wanted to know more, though appeared a little less impressed when Derek clarified that a kanima was roughly the same size as a person. She wasn’t nearly as interested in hearing about Stiles’ heroics.

“He held my head above the water until Scott got there and scared it away,” Derek finished. By now Esmeralda’s face was thoroughly clean and he was just idly petting her while he talked.

“Hrmph,” she snorted, snapping her jaw shut with enough force to splash water in Derek’s face. She didn’t look one bit sorry about it. “Stiles _again_.”

“Hey!” Derek said, wiping water out of his eyes. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Esmeralda didn’t respond, just lowered her head until the water came right up to her eyeballs like an alligator, and then didn’t move. It looked like she was sulking.

“What’d I do?” Derek asked, baffled. 

A series of tiny bubbles slowly floated to the surface of the water above Esmeralda’s nose. No other explanation was forthcoming.

“Are you _jealous?_ ” Derek asked, sure that couldn’t possibly be right, but…

_That_ got a reaction. “No!” she huffed, hauling her face out of the pond, splashing Derek _again_. “Why would I be jealous of a human? I bet he doesn’t even have a hoard!”

That was a fair statement. “No, he doesn’t,” Derek told her. “He doesn’t even have his own nest, either.” Stiles was still living with his dad while he finished college, which seemed to be taking forever.

“Then obviously I’m _not_ jealous of him,” Esmeralda proclaimed haughtily. Her wings were twitching, like they did sometimes when she was agitated, but she looked at least a little mollified by the news that Stiles didn’t have a hoard or a nest. Of course, he was only twenty-three. If he were a dragon he wouldn’t even have hatched yet.

“Obviously not,” Derek agreed, giving her a pat on the nose, and accepting a little lick on his face in return. “Okay, out of the water,” he said, making shooing motions at her with his hands. He was overdue for breakfast, and today he’d earned it.

~*~

It rained for two days after that, and Derek spent much of his time huddled under Esmeralda’s outstretched wing, waiting for it to stop. The rain didn’t bother her at all, except that she worried Derek was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t, really. He’d moved his cooking fire to the mouth of the cave, so he at least had hot meals, and a little warmth at night--he was back to sleeping on the chaise cushion for the time being, which was the main thing that irritated him. Sleeping on Esmeralda was way less cramped and lonely, but for the moment dry was winning out over comfortable.

The third day dawned misty, but the sun soon broke over the lip of the canyon and rose into what became a pure blue sky. The waterfall was twice the size it usually was, the normally sedate stream burbling a little bigger and a little faster, and the air smelled clean, the way it only did for a short time after it rained. Esmeralda stood, yawned, and shook herself like a dog, sending huge drops of water flying from her hide, soaking Derek to the skin and accidentally extinguishing his fire.

“Thanks a lot,” Derek said, staring at his waterlogged fire pit while Esmeralda nuzzled him in sheepish apology. For two days he’d managed to keep his fire going and stay relatively dry. _Dragons_.

Even that couldn’t squash his good mood, though. After too long spent doing little else but sitting around watching water fall from the sky, it felt good to get back to his morning workout, and he kept at it until he was hot and sweaty, salt stinging his eyes. Esmeralda had long since stopped being interested in watching him, and was sprawled in the sun, wings stretched out to dry. A particularly bold chipmunk scampered along the length of her tail, its cheeks bulging, tail straight up in the air as if it were alarmed by its own bravery.

After he chugged some coconut water—the last shopping cart had come from Whole Foods--Derek stripped out of his orange underwear and tossed them into the stream along with the rest of his clothes. He was behind on laundry because of the weather, and had nothing clean left to wear. 

Feeling more like a 1950s housewife than ever, he soaped everything up and spread it out to dry while Esmeralda snorted and snored and idly scratched at her hide with a claw, oblivious to his hard work. By the time he was done Derek was, as usual, amazed by how dirty he got washing his clothes. He always ended up covered in mud and wet grass and soap suds. He was just about to dive into the pond and get himself clean when suddenly there was a _sound_.

It reminded him of a foghorn, but not quite as flat in tone--it was low and deep and made every hair on Derek’s body stand up, even though he had no idea why. He felt himself start to shift, fangs lengthening in his mouth on instinct, and managed to hold back just in time.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Esmeralda’s head snap up. She tensed as the sound came again, and then she opened her mouth and nearly the exact same sound came out of _her_ , only a lot closer, and thus a lot louder. Derek actually stumbled back a step from the shock of it.

His movement caught her eye and her head jerked around and she cried “Derek!” sounding so anxious he immediately started toward her. He was buck naked, still covered in mud and suds, but something was very, very wrong.

“What’s happening?” he asked. “What the hell was what?”

“Another dragon,” Esmeralda practically hissed. She was on her feet now, tail whipping back and forth. It took out a small tree, but she didn’t seem to notice. “But this is _my_ territory, and you are _my_ prince. He can’t have you.”

Derek doubted very much he was going to be a hot commodity in the dragon world—he wasn’t even a hot commodity amongst his own species--but before he could reassure her of that she scooped him up and shoved him unceremoniously into the cave.

“I’ll be right back!” she said, before she haphazardly rolled the boulder in front of the cave entrance and took to the air.

“Wait!” he yelled. “Don’t leave me in here! Esmeralda!” It was too late, though. She was gone, and he was stuck in the cave, naked and wet. All his clothes were still by the stream.

That familiar fear of being trapped came rushing back in an instant, even stronger how that he knew she was going off to fight another dragon. What if she _died?_

Wherever the other dragon was, wherever Esmeralda had gone, it was outside the range of even Derek’s ears. He stood there for a few seconds anyway, ears straining, his heart thumping hard with terror. He had a horrible feeling that his happy, peaceful life was about to come crashing down around his ears. Again.

What finally made the panic recede was when he realized he could _see_. It wasn’t totally dark in the cave this time. The boulder wasn’t shoved as tightly into place as usual, and there was a small gap near the top, about the size and shape of a shoebox. Not big enough for him to squeeze through, but if he could make it bigger, he could get out.

He gingerly climbed the boulder, wincing when the cold, rough rock made contact with his more tender parts, until he was able to reach the opening. After a few minutes of shuffling around and contorting himself into a pretzel he was sufficiently wedged between the boulder and the cave wall that he could get one hand free to investigate the hole. He was in luck—there was a big crack in the upper edge of the opening. Maybe if he worked at it, he could get a chunk out.

He tackled it with his claws, and after only a few minutes a piece of rock started to work itself loose, a sizeable chunk that dropped down a few inches before it got lodged again. Bracing himself a little more firmly, he used both hands to grab the bottom of the rock and pull. It moved a little, with surprising ease, and Derek had a few seconds to savor victory before the chunk of rock, roughly the size of a bowling ball, suddenly broke free and smashed into his face. 

Both the pain and the momentum jarred him loose from his perch, and he slipped off the boulder and fell backwards. 

_This is really going to hurt_ , he thought, right before he hit the floor of the cave.

~*~

Derek regained consciousness in small increments, groggily and painfully, and kept slipping back to being in the woods with Scott’s pack again, that camping trip where Stiles had made those gross eggs and Derek realized he didn’t really like s’mores all that much. Three long nights spent sharing a tent with Stiles, laying there in the dark, listening to him breathe, wondering what it would be like if Stiles reached over and touched him. Just put a hand on his back, or ran his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“The bachelor tent,” Stiles insisted on calling it, because they were the only two who weren’t part of a couple, and had been put together by default. Stiles didn’t know that every time he called it that it was like a knife slipped between Derek’s ribs, because he didn’t want to be a bachelor. He didn’t want to share a tent with Stiles because both of them were single. He wanted to share a tent with Stiles because they were a couple, too. 

He was in the tent now, he thought—hard ground beneath his back, smell of small furry critters nearby--except he couldn’t hear Stiles breathing. He could hear the others, outside somewhere, the usual cloud of bickering and sarcasm that followed Scott’s pack everywhere they went. 

“Just slow down, and be careful. We have to do this right,” Scott said. He was answered by Allison, who said, “Not too slow. We don’t have much time.”

Christ, what were they up to now? Derek didn’t care. He was going to stay right here. His head hurt and his mouth tasted like blood. He’d just stay in the tent until Stiles came back and--

Wait…that wasn’t right. Derek wasn’t in the tent. He wasn’t camping.

He opened his eyes and blinked fuzzily at the rough stone ceiling of the cave, then sat up, wincing at the wave of pain that shot through his head. This part, at least, felt familiar. It was beginning to be a habit.

His fingers came away bloody when he gingerly touched his nose, and there was another bloody spot on the back of his head, probably where he’d landed on it. Next to him was the rock he’d dislodged from the cave entrance. How long he’d been unconscious he didn’t know, but it wasn’t dark yet, and the blood was still wet, so not that long. Just long enough to dream—

“Everyone be careful,” Scott said again, and then Boyd rumbled in agreement and Derek shot to his feet, swaying unsteadily for a second before his head cleared. 

It wasn’t a dream. They really were out there.

“He might not even be here,” Lydia said.

“ _He’s here_ ,” Stiles replied testily, like this wasn’t the first time he’d had to say it. Derek’s heart lurched embarrassingly at the sound of his voice. “A dragon doesn’t just start stealing people’s shopping carts from all over northern California for no reason. It has him and he’s alive.”

“ _Someone’s_ been living here,” a voice that definitely belonged to Sheriff Stilinski pointed out. _Stiles’ dad_ was here, too?

They’d really pulled out all the stops to rescue him, Derek thought. The only problem was he didn’t want to be rescued anymore.

For a moment he considered keeping quiet; maybe they’d look around and give up and leave. But that seemed unlikely—the other werewolves would know he was here, and Scott and Stiles were annoyingly persistent when they thought they were saving someone. And even if he did want to be saved, Derek couldn’t just _leave_. Esmeralda would come back and he wouldn’t be here, and she’d never know what happened to him. He couldn’t do that to her.

He’d just talk to them, he decided, and explain that he was staying here. Maybe he could convince them to pack up his stuff and bring it by. Some more clothes and some books, at least. Maybe some lip balm. His Burt’s Bees was long gone, and the only thing to come through in the carts was some Blistex, and that shit was terrible.

Reluctantly, he climbed the boulder again, a little more cautiously this time. He hesitated at the top, and then decided there was no avoiding this. He stuck his hand through the opening and said, trying not to sound too ungrateful, “I’m over here.”

“I _told_ you!” he heard Stiles say, followed by a chorus of exclamations and running feet.

Seconds later, Scott’s face appeared in the opening, just inches from Derek’s. “Hey, man! Good to see you!”

“Is he okay?” Derek heard Stiles ask. It sounded like he was standing right there, but Derek couldn’t see hm.

Scott raised a questioning eyebrow. Derek shrugged and made an _Eh, close enough_ face. “I think so. Let’s get him out of there. To Derek he said, “Back up, we’re gonna move this rock.” Derek jumped back down and got out of the way.

All the werewolves put some muscle into it, and in seconds the boulder had given way under their combined strength, rolling slowly away from the opening. Everyone cheered, then fell silent as Derek walked out of the cave and they laid eyes on him for the first time in months. He’d had nothing but the pond for a mirror all this time, but he could well enough guess what he looked like right now: smudged with dirt, covered in blood, hair and beard wild and overgrown…and completely naked.

Kira clapped a hand over her eyes. Isaac looked like he wanted to do that, too, but was trying to tough it out. Stiles’ dad, in civilian clothes and carrying a shotgun, wore an expression that said he’d seen a lot of things in his time and was completely unfazed by a bloody naked guy.

"Not bad," Erica smirked, eyeing Derek everywhere. 

"Oh my God, he's gone feral," Stiles said. He was carrying a giant silver sword that looked like it would topple him right over if he tried to swing it. 

"I'm not feral," Derek said, suddenly annoyed. For weeks he’d waited and hoped for them to come, and now that he was happy here they’d finally showed up and created a big inconvenient drama. He stalked over to the laundry rock and yanked his booty shorts on. They were still pretty wet, and it was not pleasant. 

“Um,” Stiles said. His eyes looked like they were bulging out of his head. His hair was shorter than it had been the last time Derek had seen him, and he had a smudge of dirt on one cheekbone. It almost hurt to look at him, but that was nothing new.

“Nice undies,” Jackson said. “You late for your shift at Chippendales?”

“We need to get out of here,” Danny said urgently. “If we’re still here when it gets back—“

“She,” Derek interrupted, bending to rinse his face off in the stream. They were obviously talking about Esmeralda, and she was _not_ an it.

“Uh, she?” Danny said, hesitantly. At Derek’s sharp nod he said, “If we’re still here when _she_ gets back— “

“She went to fight another dragon,” Derek said, but even as the words came out of his mouth he could see the pieces falling into place, read it plain enough in the looks on their faces. There was no other dragon, just a bunch of people he used to know who thought they were helping him. 

“There is no other dragon,” Chris Argent said, unsurprisingly. Jesus, Scott had brought _everyone_ from Beacon Hills with him. “We just needed a window during the day when we could see what the hell we were doing out here.”

“Miracle we didn’t break our necks anyway,” Erica chimed in, picking a dead leaf out of her hair.

“And she’ll probably be back any minute,” Isaac said, looking nervously up at the sky.

Isaac was right about that. Before Derek could even explain that he had no intention of leaving with them, Esmeralda roared, somewhere close by.

“Oh, shit,” Isaac said. “Too late.”

“Incoming,” Scott said, as the dull beat of dragon wings slowly filled the air. Scott’s pack turned toward the sound almost as one and raised their weapons—sword, bow, claws, guns—but Derek knew they didn’t have a chance in hell against her.

Esmeralda’s next roar was deafening and furious, echoing off the walls as she dropped into the canyon, wings momentarily blocking out the sun. She landed between Derek and the others with an earth-shaking thud.

“Wait!” Derek yelled, as she opened her mouth, no doubt to incinerate them all with one fiery blast. “Don’t hurt them! They’re my friends!”

She paused, snapped her mouth shut with a snarl, then lifted a front foot and used it to pick up Derek, holding him close to her body as she reared up onto her hind legs, wings spread for balance, and deposited him on the ledge in the canyon wall. The same ledge that had factored into Derek’s failed escape plan--it felt like forever ago that he’d wanted to leave. 

Once Derek was out of harm’s way, she turned back toward his friends and hissed at them. Two little puffs of smoke came out of her nose.

“Aw, crap,” Stiles’ dad said. “Can that thing breathe fire?”

“Yes, but she’s not going to,” Derek said meaningfully, giving Esmeralda a look. He hoped he was right about that.

Esmeralda gave an irritated snort, but no flames came out with it. “Why are they here?” she asked peevishly. 

“We’re here to take Derek home,” Scott announced, and Derek winced. Esmeralda was _not_ going to take that well. 

“I don’t—“ Derek started to say, but was interrupted by an outraged Esmeralda.

“He _is_ home!” she exclaimed. “He lives here with me now.”

“Because you kidnapped him!” Stiles yelled, looking pissed. 

“That’s how you get a prince,” Esmeralda said, with a strong undercurrent of _Duh!_ “You find one you like and you bring him back to your nest. Then he stays with you forever.”

“That’s terrible,” Kira said after a short, awkward silence.

“That’s actually how it happens in the books most of the time,” Lydia said, and Derek saw Stiles look over at her for a second before turning back to Esmeralda. Derek could practically see the wheels turning in Stiles’ head and it made him feel nervous and homesick all at the same time.

“We don’t want to fight,” Scott said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture as Esmeralda continued to fume. “Just let him go and we’ll leave.”

“No! He is my prince and I’m taking care of him!” Esmeralda said petulantly. All that was missing was the stomping foot. “Go away!”

“We’re not leaving without him,” Allison said. She hadn’t lowered her bow, he noticed. For all the good one arrow would do against a dragon. 

Esmeralda’s eyes narrowed and her wings flattened tightly along her back as she dropped back down onto all fours. “If you don’t leave, then _I_ will leave and I will take him with me and we will go somewhere you will _never_ find us,” she threatened. 

That brought the others up short, glancing uncertainly at each other. Allison finally lowered her bow, and Scott slumped a little, looking defeated. 

It was Stiles who broke the silence. 

"You can’t have him," he announced. Derek opened his mouth to tell Stiles it was okay, it was just fine, he was going to live happily ever after as a dragon's kept man, and he was completely cool with it, but then Stiles said, "He's my true love."

"What?" Boyd said.

"What?" Kira said.

" _What?_ " Stiles' dad said.

Derek couldn’t say anything. Derek couldn’t even think. Stiles was bluffing, he had to be--he was saying whatever he had to in order to get Derek back. He didn't know how painful it was for Derek to hear him say that and not mean it. He thought he was _helping_. Derek wanted to crawl back into his prince cave and never come out.

Esmeralda glared at Stiles, as if she suspected he was lying. To be fair, the way everyone—including Derek—had reacted to his declaration sort of reinforced that suspicion. "Is that true?" she asked Derek.

Before Derek could answer, Stiles jumped in again. "It's true," he said. "I've been in love with him since I was eighteen years old, and I'd do anything, including fighting a dragon, to keep him safe. You need to give him back to me, because I can't live without him."

Derek was frozen in place, stunned. _Stiles wasn't lying._ Derek was too far away to hear his heartbeat, but he'd spent years watching Stiles lie to people, and he knew Stiles' other tells. Derek couldn't see any of those other tells now.

_Stiles was in love with him._

Esmeralda’s wings quivered in agitation and for a moment Derek thought she was going to bring one huge paw down on Stiles and kill him dead. Instead, she stretched her neck out and peered at him intently for a moment. Stiles, to his credit, didn’t back down.

"Are you Stiles?" she asked, in a tone that implied a penny had just dropped. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, taking a step forward. _Forward_ , not back. It was such a Stiles thing to do Derek nearly laughed. "How'd you know?" His eyes darted to Derek, then back to Esmeralda.

"Oh," Esmeralda said, deflating a little. "He talked about you." 

“You talked about me?” Stiles asked Derek, in a wondering tone of voice.

“ _All the time_ ,” Esmeralda said, disgustedly, which Derek thought was a bit of an exaggeration.

Derek felt himself nod anyway, as if someone else were controlling his body. “You--” He stopped, swallowed. “You’d fight a dragon for me?” he asked Stiles.

The sheriff looked like that’d happen over his dead body, but Stiles nodded, too.

Someone started making vomiting sounds. Probably Jackson.

Esmeralda sat up on her haunches again and gazed at Derek. "Well,” she said sadly, “He is your true love, then."

"Yes," Derek said, after a moment. "He is." His throat sounded like it was full of rusty nails, and he couldn't bring himself to look away from Stiles, who was still clutching the sword in his hand, but it was dangling, forgotten, as he stared back at Derek, wide-eyed, jaw hanging open. _He hadn’t known._

Stiles hadn't known how Derek felt about him. He'd come right out and confessed his feelings in front of everyone, even though he'd thought Derek didn't reciprocate, to get Derek back.

Stiles was much braver than Derek, but Derek supposed he'd always known that.

“ _Finally!”_ Scott whooped, pumping his fist in the air. 

Derek thought back to that night on the porch, and what Stiles had said to Scott: _I almost did something really dumb._ Like kissing someone he thought didn’t love him back.

Except Derek did love him back.

He couldn’t help himself—he smiled at Stiles. He smiled at him until Stiles smiled back and then Derek started grinning. He probably looked ridiculous, but Stiles grinned right back, and they were saved from descent into **Sapville: Population 2** by Esmeralda. 

"Well, I can't have a prince who is in love with someone else," she said huffily. She flicked her tongue out to touch Derek's chest. "You have to go back to Princess Stiles," told him gently, as if she were hurting his feelings with this news.

"Hey!" Stiles said in the background. He was instantly shushed by what sounded like everyone.

"Yeah," Derek said, still grinning. "I really do." He and Stiles had a lot of lost time to make up for. He was going to go home with Stiles. He was going to go home as _Stiles’ boyfriend._

He was going to…go home.

Derek found, to his embarrassment, that he was suddenly a little choked up. He liked Esmeralda, and had already warmed to the idea of living here with her forever. The thought of leaving, even with Stiles, was surprisingly bittersweet.

"I'll come back and visit you," Derek promised, swiping at his eyes before he utterly humiliated himself. Maybe this wasn’t goodbye forever, and there was still that idea he’d had about recruiting her to be Beacon Hills’ dragon, which he could run past Scott and the sheriff once they got back home. "I'll bring you some treasure."

"Oh! That would be nice!" she exclaimed, brightening immediately. "Some tampons?"

"What the fuck did I just hear?" Jackson asked no one in particular.

"Sure," Derek said, clearing his throat so he wouldn’t laugh. "Tampons it is." 

That settled, Esmeralda scooped Derek up, which prompted a worried sound from Stiles, but she was just as careful with him as always. She cradled him gently in her big paw for a moment, touching him with little flicks of her tongue on his chest and his face. 

“You were a good prince,” she said a little wistfully. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

“You were a good dragon,” Derek replied, willing himself not to tear up again. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

He reached up and wrapped his arms around Esmeralda's giant snout and held on tight for a minute, pressing his face to the warm scales there. She rumbled in pleasure, gently nuzzling at him one last time. 

“Am I the only one feeling a little weird about this?” Isaac asked from down below.

“Definitely not,” Lydia replied.

_Screw ‘em,_ Derek thought. No one knew how awesome it was to belong to a dragon. 

When Derek finally let go, she turned and carefully set him down next to Stiles, who had handed his sword off to Scott, perhaps in a symbolic gesture of trust. He was positively beaming at Derek. Kira, Allison, and—weirdly—Boyd were all looking suspiciously misty-eyed. Derek felt like he was being given away on his wedding day.

"Goodbye, Derek," Esmeralda said solemnly, tucking her wings primly along her back.

"Goodbye, Esmeralda," Derek said. His voice shook a little, but he felt a little steadier when Stiles' hand slipped into his and held tight.

"Thank you," Stiles said to Esmeralda. "For giving him back to me." He looked over at Derek and gave him a crooked smile. Derek felt like he couldn't stop staring at him. Stiles was _here_ and he _loved Derek._

"You're welcome," Esmeralda responded regally. "Be good to him, and make sure you feed him. He needs to eat every day, you know. Three times."

"I know. I promise," Stiles said, teeth digging into his lower lip as he visibly stifled a laugh. He squeezed Derek's hand, and Derek squeezed back.

But Esmeralda wasn't listening to them anymore anyway. She was surveying the group with frank curiosity, and Derek saw the tell-tale quiver in her wings when her eyes landed on Stiles’ dad. _Uh oh._

She shuffled forward, careful not to squish anyone, and lowered her head to the ground in front of Sheriff Stilinski and flicked her tongue out at him. "And what about you? Do _you_ have a true love?"

**The End**

**Notes:**

http://www.wikihow.com/Survive-an-Encounter-with-an-Ostrich


	21. Dioskouroi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's two of us now!" In which a spell to double Derek's power ends up being a little more literal than anyone expected. Tags in author notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Throwback Thursday story!
> 
> I wrote most of this right after season two ended, so it does not match up with current canon in details ranging from the big (a lot of the people in this story are dead now) to the small (the Hale vault) to the amusing (Derek Hale, you changed so much! I’m so proud of you, baby.)
> 
> I did go back and make a few minor changes regarding the alpha pack, since we did not know their names when I started this story, or how they became members of the alpha pack. I left pretty much everything else as it was, because I knew if I started changing things I’d never stop and it would be like pulling a loose string on a sweater—pretty soon all I would have was a big pile of yarn. 
> 
> Thanks to Stoney for the beta read! <3
> 
> This is for the anon who wanted Derek/Stiles/Derek. You probably aren’t in the fandom anymore at this point, but I did get to your request…three years later. 
> 
> **Tags:** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Doppelgangers, Post Season Two, Throwback Thursday, Threesomes, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Magic Stiles Stilinski

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Scott asked nervously, as Stiles drew a chalk half-moon on the floor around Derek's bare feet.

"It's a great idea!" Stiles said, carefully setting a porcelain bowl full of various powders inside the half moon. "According to the book, this'll double Derek's power. The alpha pack is going to take one look at him and head for the hills." 

They'd managed to drive them out of town five times already, but they just kept coming back. Fighting them off had become an unwelcome summer tradition, but this year the Hale pack would be ready to send them packing for good.

Scott gave Stiles a look that was positively soaked in skepticism before he turned to Derek. "Are you really okay with this?" he asked him, in a way that made it clear he thought Derek had lost his mind if that was the case. He was usually super supportive of Stiles’ plans, but this spell was a lot more complicated than anything they’d done before, and he’d been fretting over it off and on for weeks, every time Stiles talked about it. 

Derek shrugged and wrinkled his nose at the box of herbs and rocks and bones he was clutching to his chest. "We’re running out of other options." He was naked, and didn't seem to care. Scott, on the other hand, was determinedly looking only at Derek's face. "Nothing else has worked so far."

The words themselves weren’t exactly loaded with enthusiasm, but Derek gave Stiles a quick, soft smile that said he wasn’t worried.

“See? Derek thinks it’ll work,” Stiles said confidently. “He knows this is a game-changer.”

“Stiles says it’s going to be ‘amazeballs,’” Derek told Scott, complete with audible quotation marks. 

"Oh, God, don't say 'amazeballs,'" Stiles groaned. Derek always made it sound so dorky when he said it, like when parents used slang. It was awful, and Derek probably knew it. He said it suspiciously often.

Scott had a pained look on his face, which Stiles chose to believe was because of Derek and not Stiles. “If you’re sure,” Scott said hesitantly, eyes flicking from Stiles to Derek.

"Stop worrying, it'll be fine," Stiles said breezily, right before he lit the two matches and dropped them into the bowl at Derek's feet.

The resulting explosion blew Derek right through what was left of the Hale house dining room wall.

"Oh my God!" Stiles shrieked, or thought he shrieked. His ears were ringing so badly his own voice sounded muffled. The room was filled with blue smoke, even with all the windows and most of the roof missing, and bits of debris were still falling around them as he struggled to sit up, coughing and trying to wipe the dust and ash out of his eyes.

He and Scott had been knocked on their asses, but the chalk half-moon had seemed to focus the majority of the explosion in Derek's direction. Stiles didn't really feel hurt, and Scott was already climbing to his feet, so that was good news, but he couldn't even _see_ Derek. 

Scott reached to help Stiles up and they started picking their way across the floor, trying to avoid the pieces of wood that had rusty nails sticking out of them, which seemed like all of them. There was no movement from what had once been the dining room, which meant Derek was probably dead. Stiles had killed his boyfriend, and they hadn't even been together long enough to fight over whose sperm they were eventually going to use to make a baby. (Derek's, obviously. Stiles wanted attractive kids.)

Then a splintered piece of what looked like a scorched china cabinet moved, and Derek's head slowly emerged. First his hair, looking understandably flattened, and then his face, smudged with black soot and squinched in either pain or anger. With Derek it was sometimes hard to tell.

"Oh, thank God," Scott and Stiles said in unison. Stiles’ ears still felt like they were stuffed with cotton, but he could sort of hear.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Derek asked hoarsely, looking adorably befuddled as he blinked up at them. Stiles wanted to kiss him all over his dirty face, but manfully refrained.

"Maybe?" Stiles hedged. _Side effects include being blown up!_ seemed like something that should have been mentioned, but the kind of people who wrote spell books were, unsurprisingly, prone to perpetuating an aura of mystery. Scott gave Stiles a horrified stare, and looked like he was about to yell at him for being so cavalier, but Derek just harrumphed and tried to wiggle a little further out of the wreckage. 

They helped dig him out, Scott doing most of the heavy lifting, and once Derek got unsteadily to his feet Stiles handed him his pants. Derek was scratched and covered in grime and had some blood on him, but seemed otherwise okay.

"So? Did it work?" Stiles asked, when he was sure Derek was fine, trying not to sound too eager. It seemed bad form to be too excited so soon after blowing Derek up, even if it had been done with the best of intentions. 

"I don't think so," Derek said, eyes going unfocused for a second like he was looking inward, trying to figure out if he felt more powerful, and then they all practically jumped out of their skins when the pile of debris shifted and _another_ Derek climbed out, looking as dirty and naked as the first one, and even more bloody.

All three of them stood frozen in place as the second Derek looked at the first Derek, then at Stiles, then at Scott, and then at the first Derek again. The second Derek tentatively lifted his hand and waved. "Hey, guys."

"Oops," Stiles said.

~*~

"Wow, this is awesome!" Derek Two said, when they explained to him what they'd done and why, with the spell. "We can be alphas together! I mean, who better to have at your back than yourself, right?" He grinned and held his hand up to Derek, waiting for a high five.

Derek stared at him for a beat, expressionless, before he turned to Stiles. "How do we get rid of him?"

~*~

The problem was, Stiles didn't actually know _how_ to get rid of him. 

When they'd been in the research phase of this whole endeavor, they hadn't seen anything in the book about how to reverse the spell, so Stiles had assumed it would wear off on its own, or possibly be permanent. Since neither Derek nor Stiles had been able to come up with any downsides to the possibility of Derek being more powerful forever, they'd hand waved right past that detail. That was maybe—possibly--in retrospect--a little careless of them.

But in their defense, they hadn't counted on the spell being quite so literal--Derek was now twice as powerful because there were two of him, and Derek was _not_ willing to hand wave that. He was completely and irrevocably against having Derek Two for even one second longer than necessary, and he wasn't shy about saying so, repeatedly. Derek Two looked a little more crushed by it every time.

After a day and a half of research it was clear there was nothing in the spell book—or anywhere else Stiles could think to look—that explained how to undo it, Deaton was conveniently out of town, and Derek's suggestions were all along the lines of "lock him in the attic" and "give him a hundred bucks and a bus ticket to Toronto." So they did the only thing they could do, which was give him some of Derek's clothes and get him set up in one of the more habitable bedrooms in the Hale house until they could get everyone together and break the news. 

"Hey. So. Kind of a funny story," Stiles opened with, once everyone gathered at the house. Since it was summer, everyone was in town, even Jackson and Lydia, who were leaning against each other near the fireplace, looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Derek Two stepped around the doorway to the kitchen and said, "There's two of us now!" complete with a little jazz hands flourish. He was wearing a pair of Derek's jeans, a pair of Derek's old tennis shoes, and a pale blue T-shirt with a Care Bear on it that had definitely never been Derek's. He was grinning like he'd just won the lottery, instead of inherited a gig co-parenting a pack of dumb kids who somehow kept lucking into not dying. 

"Whoa," Isaac said, at the same time Erica breathed, " _Holy fucking shit._ "

Jackson looked almost as disgusted by this turn of events as Derek did. "This is not a funny story, Stilinski," he said. "Not funny at all." 

Emilio and Enrique, two born wolf brothers who had shown up just a few months ago looking for a pack, exchanged a look that clearly said this kind of freaky shit was not what they'd bargained for when they came to Beacon Hills.

Before Stiles could explain further, Derek Two darted back into the kitchen, then reappeared carrying two giant pink pastry boxes. "Who wants cupcakes?" he asked, sounding disturbingly like the host of a children's TV show.

Derek Two was obviously a wily fucker, because everyone immediately clustered around him and started shaking hands and introducing themselves, and exclaiming over the enormous colorful cupcakes in the boxes. "Oooh, carrot cake," Scott said, and then, "Stiles, there's a lemon one!" 

Lemon was Stiles' favorite. He ignored the look of betrayal Derek gave him as he elbowed Boyd out of the way and grabbed the one with the bright yellow swirls of frosting on top.

"I'm still the alpha!" Derek said, just so there wasn't any confusion, but everyone was so busy stuffing their faces with sugar Stiles wasn't sure they even heard him. Or cared.

~*~

"I think we should stay away from each other while he's here," Derek said the next day, all shifty eyes and down-turned mouth. They were alone in his sad excuse for a kitchen while everyone else was enjoying an impromptu cookout in the back yard, complete with overly loud music and roasted weenies. Derek Two's idea. 

"Are you kidding?" Stiles asked. Why the hell would they do that? "Why the hell would we do that?"

"It's safer that way," Derek said, overdoing the grim determination a little bit. "I don't trust him. The less he knows about us, the better."

Stiles closed his eyes and massaged his temples while he let that sink in. "Let me just make sure I'm understanding this," he said eventually, looking over at Derek, who had his "I'm serious about this, Stiles!" face on. "You're trying to hide the fact that you like me from _yourself_? That's some messed up shit, even for you." And Stiles had thought they were past this. Everyone knew about them, except Stiles' father, and the world hadn't ended. Stiles wasn't happy with this regression.

"He's not me," Derek said, for probably the hundredth time in less than three days.

"He's basically you," Stiles said, also for the hundredth time in less than three days.

Derek set his jaw and pointed over Stiles' shoulder. When Stiles turned to look, he could see Derek Two through the window--it was impossible to miss the guy in the neon green board shorts waving a speared hot dog over his head and dancing to "Call Me Maybe."

"Okay, so he's not exactly you," Stiles conceded. "He's more like…a twin."

"An _evil_ twin," Derek said darkly, and Stiles very kindly did not point out that in this situation Derek himself was probably the evil twin, not the other way around.

In reality, Stiles wasn't sure at all what Derek Two was. He wasn't a duplicate—he didn't appear to have any of the original Derek's memories—but he didn't actually have any of his own, either, so he wasn't another Derek from an alternate universe. (Which disappointed Stiles greatly—he would have given anything to meet someone from an alternate universe, just once in his life.) Derek Two just kind of…existed. He knew some basic things about the original Derek, but they seemed to be mostly inferred from his own thought processes, and when Stiles had tried to get him to describe what he recalled from before the moment he popped up out of the wreckage of the dining room, he'd just shrugged and said, "Nothing."

He was more like some weird, extreme side of Derek, made flesh and walking around separate from him. Except it was a side of Derek that most of them had rarely seen, even Stiles, who was most familiar with what Derek looked like when he was genuinely happy. In fairness, there hadn’t been a lot to be happy about for a long time. This Derek was happy all the time, about everything.

When Stiles had first met Derek, he’d mostly smiled when he was being a sarcastic asshole, or trying to manipulate someone, but he’d definitely loosened up a bit since then—only to immediately lose almost all the progress he’d made as soon as Derek Two appeared, reverting back to the grim and stoic Derek for years past. Stiles was hoping it was only temporary. He’d kind of forgotten, in the intervening time, what a downer past Derek had been.

"I'm serious, Stiles," Derek said, which his face had already said loud and clear, so Stiles knew that. He moved closer, hooking an arm around Stiles' waist and pulling him close. "He could use it against us."

It was hard to resist Derek when he was sincerely worried, even if it meant their sex life was going to be severely compromised for however long Derek Two was around, so Stiles leaned into him. He sighed heavily, just so Derek would know what a sacrifice this was, and said, "Okay, sure, if that's what you think is best."

"I do," Derek said. He did sound a little regretful, which was nice.

They stuck to that plan for a whole two hours, until right about the time the party moved indoors, and Derek Two leaned against the charred living room wall next to Stiles and smiled at him and handed him a beer. Before Stiles could even bring it all the way up to his mouth, Derek was there, sliding between them, crowding Stiles into his armpit, and deftly plucking the bottle from Stiles' hand.

"He's driving," Derek said reproachfully, glaring at Derek Two. 

"It's just one beer!" Stiles protested.

"Ask your dad if that counts," Derek shot back, and Stiles gave that argument up for dead, just like he had every time so far. Derek was tougher than the state of California when it came to blood alcohol limits. 

Three years ago, Stiles’ dad had cornered Derek in the power tool aisle at Lowe’s and cheerfully warned him that if he caught Stiles or any of Derek’s other underage friends with booze, he would be beating a path straight to Derek’s door. Derek had lived in paranoia regarding anything having to do with Stiles and alcohol ever since, even after Stiles turned twenty-one. Maybe especially after.

Derek Two flicked an eyebrow at Derek. "Is that the only problem you have with this?" he asked, waving a hand between himself and Stiles, who was now slowly being squished in the steadily shrinking space between Derek and a crooked bookcase. The corner of Derek Two's mouth twitched, and Stiles could tell he already knew about them. So much for hiding it.

"Back off," Derek hissed, and Stiles actually saw his eyes flash red for an instant, and then Derek Two's eyes did the same, and they locked in on each other, teeth bared. Stiles felt more than heard the sub-vocal growl start in Derek's chest and holy shit, two alpha werewolves were about to fight over him. He winced as he was crammed even further into the corner.

"Dude, you're hurting me!" Stiles said, which was cheap and manipulative, and not actually true, but it worked, because both Dereks instantly switched their focus to him, and the fight went out of them like a couple of popped balloons.

Derek Two made an abortive attempt to reach out to Stiles, concern all over his face, and if he'd been a regular human he probably would have lost the arm. Being also a Derek, he got it out of the way in time when Derek lunged at him, snarling, and Derek Two immediately backed off, hands held up like he was surrendering to the police.

The rest of the group had gone silent and a few of them were cautiously edging closer, not eager to get between two alphas, but a little worried nonetheless. One Direction played on in the background, inappropriately bouncy for the tense situation.

Derek moved enough to give Stiles some breathing room, but kept his body between Stiles and the other Derek. He watched, stone-faced, as Derek Two turned and walked out the room. After a few seconds of visible hesitation, Isaac trotted out after him.

"So, I guess we can forget that plan," Stiles said, when Derek finally let him out of the corner. "He already knows." 

Derek made an unhappy noise, and he still looked like he was an inch away from committing a homicide, but he gave Stiles' arm a gentle, apologetic squeeze. He was still holding the beer, but didn’t appear to be aware of it.

Stiles' phone trilled at him, a welcome distraction. It was his father, letting him know he was spending the night at Rachel's house. Rachel was his dad's new—first, only—girlfriend. She owned a bakery, and was ranked fourth in the nation in women's skeet shooting; Dad had met her at the shooting range. She was also younger than Stiles' dad, and really pretty. The first time Stiles had met her, he'd had to fight the urge to give his dad a high five. 

"The sheriff's dating the donut lady?" Stiles had asked, when his dad told him about her during their weekly phone call. It was Stiles' first week back at college, and he always worried about leaving his dad alone, so it was welcome news, as long as this lady wasn't going to stuff Dad with donuts.

"I'm embracing the stereotype," his dad had said, but he'd sounded pretty happy.

And Stiles had been pretty happy for his dad, and then when he'd come home for the summer he'd realized the added bonus was that Dad mostly stayed at her place, because she had a kid. Stiles' dad not being home meant Derek could be there overnight, instead of them having to constantly sleep in Derek's crumbling castle of despair.

"Let's go to my house," Stiles said to Derek, goosing him a little just to watch him twitch. When Derek didn't immediately jump at the suggestion, Stiles grabbed his ass again, this time in a way that made it really, really clear what he wanted to do once they got to his place, and that finally got Derek moving, digging his car keys out of his jacket pocket.

It was a brilliant plan, actually. Not only would it separate the two Dereks, but there was a guest bedroom with a double bed in it next to Stiles' room; they'd gotten a lot of use out of that bed when Stiles' dad wasn't home. That would definitely cheer Derek up.

~*~

"Do you like him?" Derek asked, a little later, after they'd put the double bed through its paces. Derek seemed…moderately cheered. Stiles was trying not to take it personally.

"Well, yeah," Stiles shrugged. "I mean, I know you don't trust him, but he seems like a really good guy." He'd seen nothing so far that indicated otherwise.

Derek sat up and swung his feet down to the floor, like he was getting out of bed, but he didn't actually stand up. He turned to look at Stiles over his shoulder. "I meant—are you attracted to him?"

It didn't pay to lie to Derek, because he could tell. "I'm not gonna lie, dude. I think he's hot like burning, because I think you're hot like burning and he looks just like you and—" Stiles hesitated a second before his mouth over-ran his brain filter "--would it really be cheating if we had sex?"

"Yes," Derek said, though his mouth didn't move at all. Not even a twitch. It was kind of impressive.

"Really?" Stiles asked, though he wasn't surprised by the answer, given what had happened when Derek Two had tried to give him a beer. So forward of him!

Derek somehow managed to convey that he was scowling without actually moving his face. " _Yes._ "

Stiles worked over that problem for a few seconds before he realized where the communication gap was. "No, I meant what if _we_ had sex _with him?_ " 

"Jesus Christ, Stiles," Derek said, in a disgusted tone. He looked genuinely shocked by the suggestion. "No fucking way."

"What? You don't think about it?" Stiles was astounded by this. He'd thought about having a double Derek threesome at least once a day since Derek Two showed up. Five times a day. More if he happened to be in the same place with both of them at the same time.

Derek gave him a skeptical look. "Tell me honestly, if there were suddenly two of you, would you really want to have sex? All three of us togeth--"

"Yes!" Stiles said immediately. 

"Oh my God," Derek groaned. He dropped his head into his hands and began slowly rocking back and forth. "Oh my God."

"Though I'll admit I wouldn't be that enthused about having to watch my own orgasm face, which is just ridiculous," Stiles admitted. "I don't know how you can fuck me without cracking up. I look like I touched an electric fence. And there you are, looking like the patron saint of homemade porn. I could make a fortune on the internet selling clips of you taking it in the ass. It's not fair."

Derek's fingers tightened in his hair and he made a pained sound. "Please stop."

"I wish you'd never let me talk you into making that video," Stiles continued. "I'm totally traumatized. Why didn't you stand firm on that?"

"Because I can't stand firm on anything with you," Derek said, head still in his hands, sounding pitiful.

~*~

So, clearly Derek hated himself, which would have been funny if it hadn't been so painfully symbolic.

In Derek's defense, Derek Two was obviously not a true duplicate of the original Derek. Physically, they were indistinguishable, except that Derek Two preferred to be clean-shaven, but personality-wise they were vastly different. Derek Two was really friendly and outgoing, and smiled a lot, and liked to wear bright colors. He was also a hugger.

"Hey, I brought coffee for everyone!" Derek Two said, smiling at all their shocked faces over the top of the little cardboard trays of Starbucks balanced on his hands. The pack was huddled around a beat up table in the Hale house, trying to figure out where the strange white rats they'd been seeing all over town were coming from.

Derek Two whistled cheerfully as he set the trays down and started handing out coffees, and it quickly became apparent that in the two weeks since his sudden appearance, he'd learned exactly how everyone liked their coffee. Even Jackson, who usually referred to the two Dereks as "Dickbag One" and "Dickbag Two." But now Jackson took the steaming paper cup Derek Two offered him, and refrained from insulting him when he did it, which was practically a tongue-kiss when it came to Jackson, so that was impressive. 

The others, especially Isaac, had been much more easily won over by Derek Two's easygoing nature and eagerness to make friends. They happily accepted their drinks while Derek stood off to the side and scowled. Stiles took one sip of his and grinned: almost as much milk as coffee, and just the right amount of sugar. Perfection. 

"And tea for you," Derek Two said to Boyd, who looked pleased he'd remembered he hated coffee.

Despite the feeling of goodwill in the room, everyone froze when Derek Two finally turned to Derek. "Here you go, buddy," he said, handing him the last cup. "Black like your soul." He punched Derek on the shoulder and grinned at him before he sat down next to Stiles and said, "So, what are we doing?"

"We think we've narrowed it down to this area," Boyd said, tapping the map with his finger, and everyone turned their attention back to him.

"Excellent!" Derek Two said, because he had a positive attitude about everything and praised them all for even the tiniest thing, like a grandpa handing out candy as a reward for simply being a kid and in his vicinity.

Derek sneered and rolled his eyes, but he did drink the coffee.

~*~

"I think everyone likes him better than me," Derek said later, when he and Stiles were on Derek's rickety bed. Derek Two was out skateboarding with Isaac, whose crush was reaching a level that was painful to witness, and also weirding everyone out. The rest of the group had scattered to who knew where. Once they were alone, Derek had been in a hurry to get Stiles upstairs, which was why one of Stiles' shoes was somewhere on the landing, and his shirt was out in the hallway.

"That's not true," Stiles said, patting him on the arm, but it pretty much was. He squirmed around and tried to get some more of the blanket out from under Derek's legs. They'd gotten all sweaty and now he was starting to get cold, because his boyfriend lived in a house with only half a roof. "Wait--are you _trying_ to get us to like you?" he asked. "Because if you are, you’ve been going about it a really strange way."

Derek lifted his butt so Stiles could get the blanket out. "I'm trying to _keep everyone alive_ ," he said tersely, and that was what suddenly made Stiles feel bad for him. Derek really was trying to be a good alpha. He just kind of sucked at it sometimes, because he hadn't been brought up to be one, and he had no one to look to for guidance, and he had the added burden of constantly being under siege.

"Hey," Stiles said softly. "I know you are. Come here." He held up his arm so Derek could scoot under it.

"He keeps trying to be my friend," Derek said, lip curling in disgust as he settled against Stiles' side.

"He's trying to be everyone's friend," Stiles pointed out. Derek Two followed everyone on Twitter, even Jackson. No one followed Jackson on Twitter because all he did was post selfies, usually with the Porsche in the background.

"Ugh," Derek said, and closed his eyes. A second later he resentfully flung an arm across Stiles' middle, like he was incredibly put out by his own need to cuddle. Stiles rewarded him by carding his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, which Derek loved.

What Stiles didn't say was that it was working—Derek Two was becoming friends with everyone, and maybe Derek could take a little bit of a cue from that. It was impossible not to notice that the whole pack seemed happier and more cohesive since Derek Two's sudden appearance. That didn't exactly reflect well on Derek's leadership skills, or his personal ones, either. Stiles couldn't bring himself to point that out.

~*~

When he was home on breaks, Stiles worked at the video game store in town, which wasn't a bad gig, because he got paid to talk about gaming all day, and they were allowed to play if things were slow and they didn't have anything else to do. The owner, Russ, was a pretty cool guy, one of those out-of-shape, aging gamer dudes who would probably die with a controller in his hand. Stiles had no complaints, even when he had to work the closing shift on Saturday nights, when they hosted tournaments and were open until eleven.

Everyone else had already disappeared by the time Stiles shut everything down and locked the door. Nothing else in the strip mall was open this late, so the parking lot was deserted, which was a little creepy, especially knowing the alpha pack would probably show up any day now. But Stiles didn't have to worry, because Derek had insisted on playing chauffeur tonight and was waiting for him, leaning against the side of the Camaro. 

When they got in, Derek leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, and then put his hands on the steering wheel and didn't start the car.

"Oh, shit. Now what's wrong?" Stiles asked, the giddiness over seeing his sexy werewolf boyfriend waiting for him going up in a puff of smoke.

"I need to tell you something," Derek said, darting nervous glances in Stiles' direction but not looking directly at him. "And it has to stay a secret."

Stiles dug his fingers into his thighs, willing himself to stay calm, even though that sounded really, really bad. "Did you kill someone?" he asked, hushed.

"What?" Derek asked, whipping his head around to gape at Stiles. "Of course not."

Stiles gaped back. "Why is that such an outrageous suggestion? You kill people—things—all the time! We both do!"

Derek huffed, acknowledging that Stiles had a point, or so Stiles chose to believe. "You're usually there. Or the cause," Derek pointed out, which, yes, true, but Stiles had only been the cause twice. Okay, three times.

"So what is it?" Stiles prompted. He needed to know _now._

Derek stared out the windshield again for a moment, obviously putting a lot of effort into working up to saying whatever it was he needed to say. Stiles waited quietly, because he'd learned from experience that trying to prompt him to just say it already would only prolong the process more. Finally, after the dome light had already clicked off and Stiles was regretting not peeing before he locked up the shop, Derek came out with it.

"I can't shift," he said, all in a rush. When he finally glanced over at Stiles again, he looked scared.

"Are you kidding?" Stiles asked, even though he already knew the answer to that, just by the way Derek was acting. Derek swallowed hard and shook his head. "Since when?"

"Since _the spell_ ," Derek said, like that should have been obvious.

"Are you _fucking kidding me?_ " Stiles screeched, bolting upright so fast he hit his head on the roof of the stupid Camaro. "That was weeks ago! You're just telling me now?!"

Derek, at least, looked sufficiently guilty over withholding this information. "I was hoping it would fix itself," he muttered, practically squirming in his seat.

Stiles thought back, going over the last few weeks. Had he really not seen Derek shift at all? He was so used to it—Derek was Derek was Derek, no matter how many eyebrows or teeth he had—that it barely registered what he looked like anymore.

"Wait," he said, snapping his fingers at Derek. "I saw you shift at your house. When Derek Two gave me that beer."

Derek shook his head. "That was when I realized I couldn't. That was just my eyes." He demonstrated, flashing his red eyes for a second. "I can't do anything else. No fangs, no claws."

"Oh, shit," Stiles said weakly.

He couldn't go into beta shift, was what Derek meant. He still hadn't mastered the alpha shift like Peter had, and Stiles suspected he'd given up hope he ever would. He hadn't tried it, as far as Stiles knew, in months. And he didn't even talk about going full wolf—it was probably impossible.

But losing the beta shift, too? That was bad. That was so, so bad. The alpha pack was coming—they'd already graffitied the house, as usual—and Derek's pack would have to fight them. Every year the alphas' ultimatum to Derek was "join us or die" and every year Derek did neither, but they never gave up, which honestly made Stiles a little embarrassed for them. Like, get a clue, losers. He's just not that into you.

So far, every time they'd shown up Derek's pack managed to pull a Hail Mary out of their asses and drive them off, but they kept coming back over and over again, and Derek's pack was running out of Hail Marys. Something needed to be done permanently—hence their attempt at the spell—but if Derek couldn't shift at all, his pack would be at even more of a disadvantage this year. 

Maybe this time, the alpha pack would finally get what they wanted. And since Derek was adamant he was not going to join them ever ever _ever_ , the only other outcome was that Derek would die.

Stiles felt like he might throw up.

"Are you ever going to tell me why you're so against joining them?" he asked Derek. Because, really, if it meant saving Derek's life, Stiles couldn't see the downside to it. How bad could it be? Maybe he could just join for a little while, like a temp or a consultant alpha or something.

"Someday, maybe," Derek hedged. It was the same answer he'd been giving for years, so it didn't give Stiles much hope. And now was not the time to press for more information, when Derek was already looking like his chest was caving in.

"Okay. Well, we'll figure out something," Stiles said. He hated to bring this up, because it was already such a sore topic, but it was kind of important: "Can Derek Two shift?" 

Derek's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I don't know. I didn't ask him."

"We need to find out," Stiles said. Derek plainly didn't want to—he really, really didn't want anyone else to know. He'd even hidden it from Stiles. "Derek, come on. We need to find out. You know I'm right."

"Fine," Derek sighed, and started the car.

When they got to the Hale house, Derek Two was in his room, already asleep. Stiles ragged his ass out of bed and got right to the point. Still half asleep, and looking chagrined, Derek Two came clean. He couldn't shift either.

Up until now, Stiles had been operating under the assumption that the appearance of a second Derek was an overly-literal result of the spell, but their inability to shift completely threw what theory right out the window. Instead of one doubly powerful Derek, or two regularly powerful Dereks, they had two not-quite-as-powerful Dereks, and that was absolutely not what the spell had been meant to achieve. Something had gone wrong with it.

They were so screwed.

~*~

Given this terrible development, Stiles had no choice but to go to Deaton the next day and confess what they'd done. He'd been back from his trip for weeks, but Stiles had been avoiding him.

"I was wondering when you were going to finally tell me," Deaton said, the creepy motherfucker.

"Well, I'm telling you now," Stiles said, irked. "And not only did the spell not help, it kind of put us at an even greater disadvantage." He explained about the shift problem. 

Before he'd even finished, Deaton was already stacking books in Stiles' arms. "You can start with these," he said. "I've got some other resources I'll consult. I'm sure I don't need to tell you time is of the essence here. With the alpha pack bearing down on us…"

"I know, I know," Stiles said, trying to keep the aggravation out of his voice. This was his fault, he readily admitted that, but he hated being lectured.

"Do _not_ try anything without consulting me first," Deaton said firmly, as he held the door open for Stiles, and Stiles just nodded meekly and scurried toward the Jeep.

He went straight to Derek's place and divided the books up between himself and the two Dereks. "Everyone thinks we're looking for new ways to fight the alpha pack, so they won't think it's strange we're doing tons of research," he said. They'd agreed to keep the shift problem just between themselves and Deaton for now. "Just look for anything related to not being able to shift, especially after being the subject of a spell."

Derek Two was already flipping through one of his books while he munched on a Twizzler. "I can help for a few hours now, but I have a poetry slam tonight," he said. He looked up at Stiles. "You can come if you want."

"Uh. I should probably spend as much time as possible researching," Stiles said, as Derek grumbled under his breath. "But thanks."

"Maybe next time," Derek Two said, smiling.

"Yeah," Stiles said, unenthusiastically. "Maybe next time."

Derek snorted, and stole a Twizzler.

~*~

"Allison called me," Scott said casually, while he and Stiles were dousing a big pile of rat corpses with gas.

"No way," Stiles said, pausing with the gas can in his hand. His eyes were watering from the fumes. He hated burning corpses, which was unfortunate because it seemed like there was always a corpse or twenty to be burned in Beacon Hills. Stiles was considering looking into outsourcing. "What'd she want?"

"She says the hunters are tired of the alpha pack, too, and they're interested in working together."

"Derek will never go for it," Stiles said flatly. He screwed the top back on his gas can and walked over to set it down well away from what was about to be a pretty big fire. "And I'm not inclined to, either."

Stiles wasn't a fan of the Argents in general, after everything that had gone down with that family. Erica and Boyd felt the same, for obvious reasons. Gerard Argent was long gone, Kate Argent dead and buried, but the animosity between the remaining Argents and the Hale pack remained. And Stiles and Scott and all the other younger pack members had had to finish out their high school years with Allison in their class. Talk about awkward. 

Allison had a whole new group of friends now, and had for years. Derek's pack and the Argent family gave each other a wide berth, and now that they were all out of high school they almost never saw each other, except by accident. Beacon Hills wasn't that big. 

"She seemed sincere," Scott said, setting his can down next to Stiles'. "Maybe we could get rid of the alpha pack for good this time with their help."

"Your optimism is precious," Stiles said.

Scott was undeterred. "What if this is just the start, like, testing the waters? What if we can work out some kind of truce?"

"Maybe," Stiles said doubtfully. "And maybe this is just a ploy to get all the werewolves in Beacon Hills in the same place and kill them in one fell swoop."

The look on Scott's face told Stiles that thought had already crossed his mind. He seemed encouraged despite that, though. "What if I talk to her a little first?" he asked. "In person, I mean. I could tell if she was lying. And if she's telling the truth then we see if we can get Derek to agree."

"Good luck with that," Stiles snorted. He took a lighter and two packets of firecrackers out of his jacket pocket. They'd learned the hard way it was a bad idea to get close to a gasoline-soaked pile of dead stuff with an open flame. This was much safer, and more fun.

"He'll listen to you," Scott said, an adorably hopeful look on his face.

"Oh no," Stiles said immediately. "No. I'm not going near that topic with a ten foot pole." 

Derek was already feeling overwhelmed with everything that was going on: the alpha pack, the other Derek, his inability to shift, his ongoing general angst. If Stiles so much as hinted that he wanted to discuss an alliance with the Argents, Derek's head was likely to explode. And Stiles had already blown Derek up once this summer.

"Just think about it," Scott urged, taking a packet of firecrackers when Stiles handed them over. "I'll talk to Allison. There's no harm in seeing her for a few minutes."

"You're not thinking you guys might get back together are you?" Stiles asked, suspicious. He didn't like the way Scott's voice sounded when he talked about her.

"I don't know," Scott shrugged, and Stiles had to at least give him points for honesty. Scott had dated a few other people in the intervening years, and so had Allison, but Stiles had always gotten the feeling that things between them weren't quite finished. He'd been hoping that feeling was wrong. "I guess if things were right…maybe. But we need to get this alpha thing settled first. Just think about it, okay?"

"All right," Stiles said, and flicked the lighter. He held it up, and he and Scott both stuck their firecracker fuses into the flame at the same time.

"All right," Scott nodded, happy enough with Stiles' answer for the time being.

"Kind of ironic we're talking about this while starting a big fire," Stiles mused, and they tossed the lit firecrackers into the pile of gas-soaked bodies.

~*~

Ever since he'd assembled his rag-tag little pack, Derek had—especially in the summer—held what he called "training exercises" where he taught the others how to fight, how to leverage their strength and their senses in battle, and the like. Stiles had attended a few out of curiosity in the beginning, but there honestly wasn't much point in him being there. He didn't have werewolf powers, so he couldn't really participate. It was actually kind of boring.

Unfortunately for Derek, the training exercises weren't really that much more popular among the actual werewolves, according to Scott, and despite his own feelings about Derek, Stiles couldn't blame everyone else for their lack of enthusiasm. Derek was rough with them, and not afraid of pain, and seemed to expect the others to be the same. He got cranky when he felt like they weren't making progress, and irritated when they started goofing off instead of listening to him. Yet another reason Stiles liked to stay far away on training days.

That had all changed with the appearance of Derek Two, who called training days "bootcamp" and always made a lot of food, and handed out prizes to the winners of the sparring matches, like gift cards and boxes of Girl Scout cookies. Derek Two was also everyone's most enthusiastic cheerleader, yelling out encouragements from the sidelines and passing around chilled energy drinks while Derek barked orders and taught them flip kicks and how to best angle their claws, and where all the squishiest internal organs were. 

Derek, predictably, grumbled about Derek Two's participation in the training sessions—Stiles didn't dare call it bootcamp in Derek's presence—but no one could deny that attendance was up. Even some of the people who didn't have wolf powers, like Danny and Lydia, had started coming regularly, now that it had morphed into an enjoyable social gathering. After a while, not wanting to be left out, Stiles started going, too.

Today the timing was perfect--by the time he got off work they'd be done with the sparring and the running, and already moved onto the food. Stiles' stomach growled just thinking about it; last time Derek Two had made pulled pork sandwiches.

When he got to Derek's house, Stiles expected to see people milling around on the porch, or perched on the crooked picnic table with plates of food, but when he pulled up there was no one outside. Just everyone's cars, parked haphazardly along the edge of the overgrown lawn. So they were here, but they were all inside. That was…odd.

He heard the raucous cheering as soon as he killed the Jeep's engine, and then he distinctly heard voices yelling assorted versions of, "C'mon! You can beat him!" and "Keep going, you've got this!" and other enthusiastic but ominous-sounding encouragements and _none of them were in Derek or Derek Two's voice._ Stiles scrambled out his seat belt and bolted up the steps, images of a brutal Fight Club-style Derek vs. Derek throwdown filling his head. 

When he flung the door open he saw…something else entirely.

Both Dereks were shirtless, hanging from the exposed beam in the living room doorway, like Stiles had seen Derek do a hundred times, doing pull-ups. Two sweating, grunting, glistening, bulging Dereks, rising and falling in tandem. Stiles stood there for a second, mouth hanging open, momentarily paralyzed by the pure fucking beauty of it. It was a miracle he managed not to drool all over his shoes.

They'd obviously been at it for a while, because Boyd was counting out loud, "…247…248…249…"

"Hey, Stiles. Just in time," Danny said, snapping Stiles out of his X-rated daydream. That was when he noticed Lydia sitting daintily on one of the half-broken couches, fanning a stack of dollar bills.

"You've got to be kidding me," Stiles muttered, and flopped himself down on the couch next to her. "You're taking bets?"

"Pull-up contest!" Scott shouted from where he was sitting on the floor across the room, and Stiles waved and made a face that he hoped conveyed, _Yes, clearly, thanks for the tip._

"You know this is a complete waste of time, right?" Stiles asked Isaac, who shushed him, eyes never leaving Derek Two’s pulsing muscles.

"Twenty dollar buy-in," Lydia said crisply. "Put up or shut up."

Stiles shut up.

The view was great, there was no denying that, but after a few minutes the shine started to wear off, at least for Stiles. Yeah, the Dereks looked good, but watching them do pull-up after pull-up got a little mind-numbing after a while. Stiles took out his phone and started sending Scott text messages.

_You know this is pointless right?_

_Did you bet on this? I hope you didn't bet on this._

_I know you can hear your phone. Stop pretending you can't._

Scott read the first one, and then pointedly ignored the rest. Some friend he was.

"512…513…514," Boyd droned on. Stiles wished he had brought a book. 

The number got higher, and the pull-ups got slower and slower, and the Dereks' arms started to shake, and the grimacing and grunting started to get a little out of hand. Stiles slouched down into the couch and pecked listlessly at his phone. This was stupid and he wanted to eat, and he was so tired of the friction between the two Dereks, which he had no doubt was the motivating factor behind this stunt. He was probably getting some kind of alpha testosterone poisoning just from being in this room.

Not to mention the fact that his chances of getting laid tonight were quickly diminishing. Derek was probably going to be useless after this, even with his werewolf constitution. And for such a dumb reason.

Well aware that he was to blame for Derek Two's existence in the first place, Stiles was trying to be understanding about this whole thing, he really was, but now that they were over a month into it, he was starting to lose patience with Derek's attitude. Despite Derek's dire predictions, Derek Two had been nothing but helpful, and Stiles wished Derek would stop resisting and just admit that his presence was an advantage. So far there'd been no signs of thawing on his end.

The pack was training harder and working together more than they had in all the years before this, and as a result Derek was able to teach them ever more complicated things. But Derek still acted like he was harboring the enemy, even if as far as everyone else was concerned, Derek Two couldn't be nicer. He took them all out for ice cream, and had helped Emilio get a new job, because he'd already befriended the guy who owned the community newspaper. He volunteered at the soup kitchen, and rescued cats from trees. Derek Two brightened everyone's lives just by being around, like some kind of werewolf Mary Poppins.

And that was, Stiles was smart enough to realize, part of the problem.

Of course, Derek Two wasn't totally innocent either. He knew exactly what drove Derek crazy—mainly him paying any attention to Stiles—and yet he persisted. He purposely goaded Derek sometimes, so sweetly and so subtly that Stiles thought he was probably the only one who realized it. The nicer Derek Two was, especially to Stiles, the angrier Derek got, and Derek Two knew that.

Stiles supposed he should be grateful they were duking it out with pull-ups rather than an actual fight, but that was probably only because they were trying to hide the fact that they couldn't shift. And this was still dumb.

Finally, when Boyd's count got somewhere in the upper 800s, Derek struggled through one last painful-looking pull-up and then dropped to the floor with an angry, frustrated yell. He lay there in the dust and bits of plaster, panting, arms twitching like dying eels.

Derek Two was still hanging straight-armed from the beam, chest heaving, his sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead.

"That's 882 for both of you," Boyd told him. "All you need is one more."

"One more, one more, c'mon, you can do it!" Isaac yelled. 

Derek Two slowly pulled himself up one inch, another inch, but his arms were shaking so badly it was painful to watch. He made it another inch before he groaned through his clenched teeth and dropped back down, hanging from the beam for a second before he let go and hit the floor, too, sprawling on his back next to Derek.

"It's a tie!" Boyd yelled.

"No shit," Stiles muttered.

A collective groan went up from the group, evidently disappointed with the results. 

"Everyone gets their money back," Lydia said, and started passing out bills.

"Seriously?" Stiles said, marveling at the fact that everyone but him was completely dense. "Am I the only one who saw that coming? They're the _same guy!_ "

One of the Dereks whimpered in pain. Stiles didn't care which one.

~*~

"Stiles. Nice of you to drop by," Deaton said, when Stiles walked into the clinic well after business hours. He and Scott had been up all night at the fire pit again, and then Stiles had tried to grab a nap before his shift at the store, and ended up almost being late for work. He was finally done at the shop and on his way back home now. 

"Sorry, been kind of busy," Stiles said, shrugging off the prickle of guilt. Deaton had sent him a text message two days ago letting him know he had some information about the spell. "So what's up?"

Deaton walked over to his desk and picked up a book with a dull red cover. He opened it to a place he had marked with a Post-It note. "When you did the spell, did part of the ritual require you to write down what Derek intended to do with his doubled strength?"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "On a little piece of paper." It had gone into the box with the bones and herbs, and all of it had been pretty much vaporized during the explosion. "Why?"

Deaton handed Stiles the book and tapped a paragraph near the bottom of the page with his finger. "From what I can tell, there is no way to actually reverse the spell you did. It's supposed to naturally disperse when Derek completes his task."

"So when the alpha pack is defeated," Stiles said, heart sinking. "That could take years!" And was less likely to happen at all if Derek couldn’t beta shift.

He peered at the book, hoping to see an answer he liked better, but it was in a language he didn't recognize. "What about the other problem?" he asked, dropping his voice just in case there were any werewolves hanging around outside. You couldn't be too careful in Beacon Hills. "Does any of this explain why neither of them can shift?"

"No," Deaton said, shaking his head. "Is there any chance you made an error while casting the spell? Or was there a problem with any of the ingredients?"

"No, it was rock solid," Stiles said. He and Derek had gone over the spell numerous times, and triple-checked all the components. They'd done exactly what the book instructed, no short-cuts or substitutions.

"Hmm," Deaton said. "Then if I had to guess, I'd say that particular wrinkle is due to something intrinsic to Derek himself. Magic doesn't work the same on everyone, especially supernatural creatures."

Well, _that_ certainly wasn't something Stiles was going to share with Derek. He already had enough stuff he blamed himself for without adding "can't even get magicked right" to the list. 

"I'll keep looking," Deaton said. He took the book back and then clicked off the lamp on his desk, which Stiles took to mean the meeting was over. "You should, too."

"Yeah, I'm still on it," Stiles said, though he wasn't really feeling all that hopeful. "I'm sure we'll find something."

~*~

"I'm thinking about finding another place to live," Derek said while they were cleaning some blood off the seats in the Jeep a few days later.

"Thank God," Stiles said. While it was worth going there to spend time with Derek, the Hale house wasn't exactly a model of comfort and convenience, and Stiles' place wasn't always an option, even with Dad being elsewhere a lot. Stiles hadn't even told his dad about Derek yet, much less broached the topic of Stiles doing Derek in the house while his dad was home. All the sneaking around he did in the name of boning was getting tedious.

Derek frowned at a particularly stubborn spot and scrubbed at it. "Figured it might be more comfortable for you," he said, even though Stiles hadn't asked him why he was suddenly getting the urge to find a real house. Stiles suspected he was trying to be less of a violent hermit, now that Derek Two was hanging around making him look even more violent and hermity by comparison. If Derek wanted to pass it off as something he was doing for Stiles, Stiles was happy to let him.

On moving day, which consisted of Derek tossing his few belongings into trash bags and shoving them in the trunk of his car, Derek Two had a stack of neatly taped boxes on the porch, each one labeled in perfect block letters.

"What the hell is this?" Derek gritted out when he saw them.

"Yeah, where'd you get so much stuff?" Stiles asked. He had just come downstairs with his backpack full of the things he kept at Derek's, which was mainly a toothbrush, a copy of _The Stand_ , and three bottles of Bactine.

Derek gave Stiles an Oscar-worthy bitchface. "I meant where the hell does he think he's taking it," he said in that weirdly clipped way he said stuff when he was super annoyed.

"Right, yeah," Stiles said quickly. "Where the hell are you taking it?"

"Our new house!" Derek Two said cheerfully. "And I even bought a few things for the kitchen." He proudly held up a set of Calphalon cookware, still in the box from the store. Behind him was what looked like a microwave. Where he got money for stuff like that, no one knew. But no one knew where the original Derek got his money, either. Maybe it was secret werewolf money.

"You're not coming with me," Derek said, and Derek Two looked so wounded that Stiles instantly felt sorry for him. He sometimes had an uncontrollable reaction to Derek Two's expressions of woe, because he couldn't help but see his boyfriend in Derek Two's face, and Derek looking sad was the most heartbreaking thing in the universe, even worse than wet kittens. Stiles had done some seriously embarrassing things to avoid that look. 

"You can't just leave him here!" Isaac cried, looking even more wounded than Derek Two. Derek shot him a venomous look.

"Hey, Dickbag One. He's your responsibility," Jackson said, as he walked out of the house and dropped a box labeled "FRAGILE!!" onto the porch, paying no attention to the distinct sound of breaking glass that followed. 

Even Derek had to admit that if Jackson thought you were being an asshole, you were probably being a _really big asshole._

"Fine," Derek bit out. "But the master bedroom is mine." He got into his car and drove away before they even got Derek Two's stuff loaded into Stiles' Jeep.

~*~

The Dereks' new place was actually a good-sized house with a pool in the backyard and a finished basement that Derek Two quickly filled up with fun stuff like a dartboard and a ping pong table. It was also just blocks away from where Isaac lived with his aunt and uncle, and Isaac was ecstatic about it.

"Do _not_ fuck him," Derek told Derek Two, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. He'd just shooed Isaac off their couch and back home for the fourth night in a row.

Derek Two squared his shoulders, and his mouth took on the unhappy slant he only seemed to wear when interacting with Derek. "So only you're allowed to fuck the pack members?" he asked, darting his eyes at Stiles.

"He's not just a pack member," Derek bit out, and took a step closer to Stiles. 

"Damn right!" Stiles said. He was the research and magic guy. He was indispensable!

"What if I just fuck him a little?" Derek Two asked, and Stiles risked life and limb by throwing himself between them _again_ when Derek lunged at him. 

"Whoa, hey, calm down, it was a joke!" Derek Two said, backing off. "I'm not going to fuck anybody in the pack." His eyes drifted toward Stiles as he said it, then snapped back to Derek when Derek made a low, threatening noise in his throat.

Derek Two fucked a lot of other people, though, and it was hard to miss, because he was doing it just down the hall from Derek's bedroom. Stiles knew this because he'd all but moved in when the Dereks did, encouraged by the way Derek had pointedly left half of the drawers and closet space in his bedroom empty. Stiles hadn't wasted time filling them up.

On the upside, there was a lot of chain reaction sex, where Derek Two would creep home with someone late at night, and the next thing Stiles knew he was being roused from a sound sleep by Derek's mouth on his dick and pretty soon everyone in the house was moaning.

The mornings after could be a little awkward, though.

"This is my brother," Derek Two said to the hot guy standing in the kitchen. That was the explanation they'd all agreed upon, though Stiles had argued in favor of identical cousins. He was a big fan of that old TV show.

Derek Two's guest blinked at Derek and then grinned. "Twins! Cool!" he said as he gave Derek a once-over that Stiles could read loud and clear—he was thinking the same kind of kinky thoughts Stiles usually did when he was in a room with both Dereks. He held his hand out to Derek to shake. "Nice to meet you. I'm Todd."

Derek took Todd's hand with obvious reluctance, and shook it. "Derek," he said.

The guy shot a confused look at Derek Two, who was glaring at Derek. "You guys are both named Derek?"

"It's not that weird," Stiles interjected quickly, before an argument about who the real Derek was broke out in front of a stranger. "George Foreman named all this kids George, even the girls."

"Right," Todd said, suddenly avoiding eye contact with everyone, which Stiles did not blame him for one bit. "Well, nice meeting you."

~*~

"Wow, there are a lot of people in this town who hate your guts," Derek Two said to Derek as he limped through their kitchen. His shirt was covered in fresh grass stains and there was a broken-off arrow sticking out of his left butt cheek. "A _lot_ of people."

~*~

"Hey, dad, watcha doin'?" Stiles asked, surprised to see his father standing in their guest room, hands in his pockets, looking around. It made Stiles a little nervous, because he and Derek had just spent the night in there two days ago. Had they remembered to change the sheets? Put away the lube?

"I'm thinking of doing a little remodel on this room," his dad said. "Paint and whatnot. Make it a nice place." He cut a glance at Stiles. "For Edgar."

Edgar was Rachel's little boy. He was four years old and Dad adored him. "Are they moving in here?" Stiles asked.

Dad took a measuring tape out of his pocket and eyeballed the wall space between the closet door and the window before taking a quick measurement. "Depends on if Rachel says yes."

Holy. Crap. "Are you getting _married?_ "

The measuring tape retracted with a snap. "I hope so." He looked at Stiles. "You okay with that?"

"Who, me?" Stiles asked, like there was anyone else in the room. "Sure. I'm okay with it. I'm better than okay. Super, even." And he really was. He knew his dad was a little lonely here in the house by himself now that Stiles was away at school most of the year. And even when Stiles was in Beacon Hills he wasn't actually at home much. Especially now that Derek had a real place to live.

"You sure? You can be honest with me," Dad said. "Always."

And even though he knew that wasn't what his father had meant, somehow Stiles' mouth opened and he said, "I'm dating Derek Hale," and then he squeezed his eyes shut, and then he clapped his hands over them for good measure. That wasn't how he'd wanted to deliver that news.

"I know," his dad said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. Stiles peeked at him through his fingers, and he didn't even look mad. He looked like he was enjoying Stiles' mortification. Stiles made himself drop his hands to his sides and look his dad in the eye.

"You know? How do you know? When did you know?"

Dad set the tape measure down on the top of the dresser and then leaned against the edge of it with his elbow, letting Stiles stew for a second. "Someone reported a squatter in that old farmhouse." 

Stiles knew immediately where this was going. Last summer, during the annual alpha pack battle, Derek's pack had set up a safehouse on a farm outside of town that had been empty and for sale as long as anyone could remember. 

"When I went to check it out there was no one there," his father went on. "But someone had been there, and left in a hurry. So much of a hurry he dropped his cellphone. And that person, whoever he was, had text messages from you. A lot of text messages."

"Oh, God," Stiles said. His face was starting to feel warm.

"The kind of text messages that could scar a father for life," Dad added.

"Oh, _God_ ," Stiles said again. His face was now on actual fire

"Yep," Dad said, tapping his fingers against the dresser as he nodded. "I didn't even know what some of that stuff was. I had to Google it."

Stiles had never so desperately wished for some kind of a natural disaster to strike Beacon Hills immediately. "You didn't!"

"No, I didn't," Dad said, finally taking pity on him. Stiles nearly wept with relief. "But tell Derek to be a little more careful with his phone."

"Right. Sure. Got it," Stiles said, when he was sure he wasn't going to swallow his tongue. "Why didn't you tell me that you knew all this time?"

Dad shrugged. "You're technically an adult. And you seemed okay. Plus, if I learned anything from putting in twenty-plus years as your father, it's that nothing will make you do something faster than me telling you not to, so all I could do was just wait for you to decide to tell me about him."

"Oh," Stiles said. “Makes sense.”

"That was last summer, though," Dad said, raising an eyebrow. "So you're still together, then."

"Yeah. It's—it's going pretty well." And it was. All the supernatural weirdness--and Derek's even greater non-supernatural weirdness—aside, it was going absurdly well.

"Good. I'm glad," Dad said.

It was probably time for a hug, Stiles thought. Dad agreed.

~*~

It was a slow night at the shop, and Stiles never went anywhere now without one of Deaton’s books in his messenger bag, so he decided to heroically forgo five hours of video games in favor of research. He skimmed about fifty pages of a musty-smelling book detailing all the different spells you could do with bird bones, and got nowhere. Not only was there nothing that looked like it would help the Dereks, there wasn’t even anything else in it that might come in handy, and he was pretty sure at least three of the “spells” were actually soup recipes.

Stiles had the next day off, and Derek always had the day off, so when his shift was over that night Stiles went straight to Derek's and crawled into bed with him and blew him until he was reduced to a shivering, whimpering puddle of jizz and lube.

"Okay, turn over," Stiles said, slicking himself up with an unsteady hand. "If I don't get my dick in you it's gonna fall off."

"So romantic," Derek mumbled, but he rolled onto his stomach, somewhat lazily. Stiles probably had five minutes before Derek started snoring. That was fine—Stiles was probably only going to need three of those minutes at the most.

When Stiles finally got out of bed the next day everyone was gathered in the kitchen, arguing over the best way to cut a watermelon, and the living room floor was a jumble of coolers and beach chairs. There was a giant inflatable whale on the couch.

"Going to the beach, huh?" Stiles yawned, heading straight for the Keurig. Derek Two had bought it, and then filled the little cup stand with everyone's favorite drinks. Stiles hadn't realized how empty his life had been until he'd been introduced to the wonder of the K-Cup.

"No, we're going skiing," Jackson said, and then unsuccessfully tried to duck out of the way when Scott bopped him on the head with a pool noodle.

"You guys should come with us!" Derek Two said as he shoved a few family-sized bags of chips into a beach bag and handed it off to Erica. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of orange shorts so hideously fluorescent Stiles could barely look at them without squinting. "We've got plenty of food, and a volleyball net, and I’m bringing my guitar."

"Uh," Stiles said, imagining Derek on the beach in his leather jacket and black jeans, glaring daggers at all the little kids in their water wings. Derek Two would probably end up with his guitar shoved up his—

"We've got plans," Derek said curtly, suddenly appearing at Stiles' shoulder and making him drop his precious K-Cup on his foot.

"Jesus, stop that!" Stiles scolded. He wished he had a pool noodle so he could whack Derek with it. 

Derek Two bent down to retrieve the K-Cup, and then helpfully put it in the machine for Stiles while Derek gave the inflatable whale a baleful look. "Well," Derek Two said, "If you change your minds—"

"We won't change our minds," Derek said, and then pointedly got his own coffee started in the battered old coffee maker he'd picked up at a garage sale two years ago. He refused to use the Keurig on principle. "We have things to do."

"All right," Derek Two said sunnily. "Let's go!" 

With that, everyone left in a whirlwind of squeaky flip-flops and clunking coolers, Isaac struggling out the door with the whale. Stiles watched them go, feeling a little wistful. It was a nice day outside. They didn't often get true beach weather in this part of California.

From behind him, he heard a woeful sigh.

"If you want to go with them, just go," Derek said, sounding resigned.

"No, it's fine," Stiles said quickly, turning toward Derek and smiling at him. "I'd rather hang out with you." Which was…mostly true. Derek had become noticeably less fun to be around ever since Derek Two appeared, and his aversion to Derek Two was having the unwelcome side effect of isolating them both from the rest of the pack. It was making Stiles kind of sad. Not that Stiles didn't love spending time with alone with Derek. But sometimes he felt a little sad. Like right now.

It probably would have been a hard sell to some people in Beacon Hills that Stiles enjoyed hanging out with Derek, but it was true, especially over the last year or so, and not just because he was getting his brains banged loose on the regular. Stiles wasn't a masochist—he and Derek actually had fun together, even when they weren't having sex, and Derek laughed and made dumb jokes and smiled a lot more than most people probably suspected. He still had a tendency to be kind of a dick, especially to strangers, and he was angry a lot of the time about a lot of things, but he had been getting better. He'd let some of it go, Stiles thought.

And in months before the spell, Derek had, it seemed to Stiles, become way less mopey in general. Getting laid regularly—and well, if Stiles did say so himself—seemed to have a lifting effect on his spirits, or maybe Stiles was just wearing him down. It had to be a lot of work to be so gloomy all the time.

Either way, being with Stiles had definitely softened him up and relaxed him a little, and Stiles suspected any lingering stoicism was because he was afraid to let himself believe it would last. Derek had had the rug pulled out from under him too many times, been betrayed by too many people he cared about, to really trust in happiness, or trust in Stiles, completely. All Stiles could do was continue to hang around, and hope Derek eventually stopped waiting for something terrible to happen.

But Stiles knew he wasn’t just imagining it: ever since the spell, Derek had regressed to the Derek of Stiles' sophomore year of high school, who was scowly and snippy and unpleasant a lot of the time, even in private. Now when Stiles went home after spending time with Derek, he often felt like he needed to do something a little more uplifting, like listen to The Smiths, or watch that Humane Society commercial with the Sarah McLachlan song, or think about _Attack of the Clones_. It was getting out of hand.

But at the same time, it seemed like kind of a dick move to tell someone in Derek's position to just cheer up. Cheering up wasn't going to keep him from getting killed, or fix his shift problem, or make Derek Two go away.

"I’m sorry," Derek mumbled, staring at his coffee maker. "You can—"

"Come here," Stiles said and held up his arm and turned his head so Derek could nudge his nose down by his collarbone. Derek did just that, and Stiles wrapped both arms around his shoulders. "I'd rather be with you. I guess I like you," Stiles said into Derek's hair, which was the closest thing to "I love you" either of them had said yet. 

It was what Derek had said the night they first got together, an excruciating, awkward confession that made Derek look like he was having all of his teeth pulled at once. "I guess I like you," Derek had said, and then glared at Stiles' bookshelf, like it was to blame for this unwanted turn of events.

Stiles actually had no problem telling people he loved them, having learned early in life you should do it as often as possible because at some point you might never get the chance again, but he was trying to be considerate and not give Derek a stroke by uttering the words out loud.

Yet.

~*~

"She asked how you're doing," Scott said. He and Stiles were sitting against an old dead tree watching an ogre slowly burn down to nothing in the fire pit. It smelled like they were burning an old tire full of dead fish and dirty diapers, which was what a lot of the stuff they burned smelled like, for some reason. 

Scott had been giving Stiles almost a word for word recap of his meeting with Allison, and it was taking forever, but was a welcome distraction from the ogre stench--though the smell did give Stiles plausible deniability when he wrinkled his nose in disgust now and then while Scott talked. He was 99.999% sure Scott and Allison were on their way to getting back together and he couldn't figure how that could end in anything but tears and blood.

"Maybe you and me and her and Derek could meet up sometime," Scott said optimistically.

Oh, crap. "You didn't tell her about me and Derek, did you?" Stiles said, suddenly invested in the conversation again. Derek was paranoid about anyone he considered an enemy knowing about his relationship with Stiles, and when there was an Argent involved, Stiles was a little paranoid, too. Everyone knew Stiles was human, which made him an attractive target, and Derek already angsted over that enough.

"She already knew," Scott snorted. "You guys aren't exactly subtle when you're out in public." He leaned forward and poked the ogre with a long stick they kept here for the express purpose of poking burning things. "I can't believe it took finding Derek's phone for your dad to figure it out."

"We're not that bad," Stiles said, rolling his eyes as he took the stick so he could poke the ogre a little, too. He wasn't sure Scott was poking it right.

Scott gave him the side-eye. "Over spring break when you caught that cashier ogling him you told her 'I just tapped that ass so hard he saw God.'"

"His words!" Stiles said, jabbing a finger into Scott's shoulder. "I was just repeating what he said!" 

"Really?" Scott asked, looking impressed.

"Yep," Stiles said proudly.

"Way to go, bro," Scott said, grinning. He held up his hand for a high five. "If I ever have sex with a dude I'm coming to you for tips." 

Stiles high-fived, then handed the stick back to Scott and reached around to dig their sandwiches out of his backpack. "Oh, totally. I'll learn you up right," he said, but he actually wasn't so sure about that. Stiles' sex life up until Derek hadn't really been anything to boast about, and Stiles suspected it wasn't so much that he was amazing in the sack as it was that he and Derek were really compatible. Like, _insanely_ compatible. 

"Listen," Scott said later, by which time Stiles was dozing against his shoulder. Ogres always took forever to burn. "Allison is telling the truth. They want to help us get rid of the alpha pack. And maybe bury the hatchet for good."

"Yeah, in our backs," Stiles muttered, grimacing as he swiped his tongue over his teeth. His mouth tasted exactly what you'd expect a mouth to taste like if you ate a tuna fish sandwich and then fell asleep. 

"I mean it, Stiles," Scott insisted, jostling him a little for emphasis. "Just think about it. This could really help. All I'm asking is for you to think about it."

"I will," Stiles promised, as the ogre's arm fell off, sending a shower of glowing orange embers into the air.

~*~

The summer wore on and neither Stiles nor Deaton came up with a fix for the Dereks' inability to shift. No one else seemed to notice they couldn't, but it was only a matter of time before the secret was out. Stiles tried not to think about it. Scott and Allison continued to meet to "strategize" even though there wasn't anything to strategize about. The alpha pack didn't make a move.

Derek Two continued to act as Derek’s self-appointed second-in-command and nearly everyone adapted easily to that being the new status quo for the Hale pack. The only person who seemed unable to gracefully accept the circumstances was Derek. Who was currently standing in Stiles' backyard while everyone else was inside eating junk food and watching _Caddyshack_. 

"Get in here, you giant weirdo," Stiles said, holding the back door open like he was letting the cat in.

"I'm fine," Derek said stiffly. "Plus I wasn't invited."

"You were invited," Stiles insisted. What he didn't ask was why, if Derek thought he wasn't invited, he was here anyway. "I sent you a text." He pulled out his phone to prove it, and then said, "Oh." 

He'd typed it out but apparently had never sent it. It was still sitting there, waiting. "I thought I sent it!" Stiles said. He let the door close behind him and stepped down onto the lawn, holding his phone up so Derek could see. He felt terrible, and wanted Derek to know that he had wanted him here.

"It's fine," Derek said, but it clearly wasn't.

"Right," Stiles said. "Except with you 'fine' is actually code for 'I'm drowning in mental anguish but can't admit it' or 'my lung is collapsed and my leg is broken and I don't want anyone to know.' So you're not fooling me."

"Whatever," Derek said sullenly. Stiles was surprised he didn't actually kick a rock or something.

"Come inside," Stiles said cajolingly. "I missed you."

"I just saw you this morning," Derek said, rolling his eyes like _Stiles_ was the one being unreasonable. "Plus, _he's_ here," he added, barely holding back a sneer. "So." So one Derek was as good as the other, he was apparently implying. And that was just wrong.

"I missed _you,_ Stiles insisted, because he'd obviously put the emphasis on the wrong word last time. "And I don't care if I just saw you this morning. I want to see you all the time. Get your stubborn ass in the house, because I don't feel like sitting out here for the rest of the night." He'd do it, just to prove a point, but he didn't want to.

If he hadn't been a pro at spotting such things, he would probably have missed the whip-quick shadow of a smile that passed over Derek's mouth, but Stiles was a goddamn expert when it came to Derek Hale and his complicated relationship with happiness, so he saw it. This argument was as good as done.

Feeling triumphant, Stiles stepped forward and bumped up against Derek, invading his space until Derek grabbed his hips and kissed him. When they took a break from sucking face, Stiles said, as sexily as he knew how, "I've got a brand new tube of Pringles." Derek had the worst Pringles addiction of anyone Stiles had ever known.

"I have stuff I need to do," Derek hedged, but he actually did smile this time, like he'd finally remembered he had facial muscles and what they were for—he hadn’t smiled much at all since the spell. He didn't resist when Stiles grabbed him by the hand and led him into the house.

Stiles shoved him into his dad's recliner and then climbed into his lap, because they could actually act like they were a couple all the time now that Stiles' dad knew. No one else even blinked an eye. It was old hat to them.

This was their second summer together. During the first one, Stiles had assumed whatever this was that had sprung up between them—hanging out and fucking between supernatural emergencies, mostly--would just die a natural death after he went back to school. Derek didn't seem like the relationship type, and Stiles was going to be several hours away for most of the next eight months, and that all pointed toward them being kaput in weeks. 

But after Stiles left, Derek started texting him, and would call him once a week or so, late at night. Even if there were a lot of long pauses and Stiles did most of the talking, and Derek sometimes acted like he'd never learned how to properly have a conversation about anything that didn't involve impending death, he was making an effort. It was more than Stiles had dared hope for, and even more than he’d originally thought he’d wanted. But he did find himself wanting it, once it was happening.

Eventually, Derek even came to visit a few times, staying the weekend in Stiles' cramped room in the house he shared with three roommates, all girls. 

"Oh my God, your boyfriend is _smoking hot_ ," one of them said the first time she saw him, sounding awed. She'd been lured out of her room by the smell of coffee brewing and had come into the kitchen just as Derek walked through on his way to the shower.

"I know," Stiles grinned as he handed her a mug, and tried not to sound too cocky about it. "And he drove all night to see me." Okay, maybe a little cocky.

That was the first time someone had ever referred to Derek as Stiles' boyfriend, and he kind of liked it, so he decided that was what Derek was, and Derek was just going to have to like it, too.

He planned to bring it up later, during the afterglow, which was when Derek was extremely agreeable and prone to occasionally acknowledging that things like positive emotions existed, but before he could even get to it, Derek said, "Listen, if you don't want me hanging around--"

Stiles didn't even let him finish that sentence. "Stop that. Right now," he said firmly. He was not going to let Derek convince him to break up with him. He'd only officially been his boyfriend for, like, ten hours.

"But—"

" _Stop._ "

Derek huffed, but he pulled Stiles a little closer, and Stiles felt Derek’s mouth on the back of his neck, then his shoulder.

Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek's where they were splayed over Stiles' stomach. "Can't you just let yourself be happy?" he asked, only half joking.

Derek's fingers tightened around his, like he was afraid Stiles was going to let go. "I'm out of practice," he said, hushed against the back of Stiles' arm. "But I'm getting the hang of it."

All these months later, he was still getting the hang of it, Stiles thought, as he fed him another Pringle. And even if Stiles sometimes got frustrated with how big and painstaking a task that seemed, even if it required Stiles to tap into reserves of patience he’d never realized he’d possessed before now, it was worth sticking around for, and better all the time.

~*~

If there was one certainty to life in Beacon Hills, it was that the easy times never lasted. Finally, near the middle of July, the alpha pack decided to quit being coy and start harassing the Hale pack for real. Everyone started traveling in pairs whenever possible after two of the alphas cornered Scott in the Chik-Fil-A parking lot.

"You shouldn't be eating there anyway," Stiles told him, as they sped away in the Camaro. He and Derek had been right in the middle of a nooner when Scott called, looking for some assistance. "They use the profits from their tasty sandwiches to oppress my people. Your lunch is a tool of oppression!" 

"I just needed to use the bathroom!" Scott protested, but he stunk suspiciously of waffle fries. 

It wasn't Stiles' imagination; Derek's nose was twitching, too. "You smell—" Derek started.

"Don't even go there, dude!" Scott said, starting to get a little shouty. "You guys smell like mating season at the zoo. Glass houses!"

"We need to figure out how to get rid of them for good," Stiles fumed, because this was getting out of hand, and he was sick of dealing with their shit every summer. "We've got two Dereks. We need to use that to our advantage."

For once, Derek didn't immediately protest that the other Derek wasn't an actual Derek, which Stiles decided was a sign of progress. He'd take what he could get.

~*~

Once the alpha pack harassment started in earnest, research kind of fell by the wayside, and the stack of books Deaton had given them sat untouched for days at a time. One afternoon, feeling guilty, Stiles grabbed one on his way out to the pool, and after he'd swum around for a while he got himself set up in a floating lounge chair with a beer and started paging through it.

He was starting to get drowsy, and worrying a little that he'd drop the book in the pool and Deaton would put a whammy on him that shrunk his dick down to the size of a baby carrot or something, when he found an entire section on creating duplicates, and the problems inherent to the practice. _Bingo._

It wasn't long before Stiles realized they'd actually gotten lucky when the spell went bad, because there were far, far worse things that could have gone wrong besides losing the ability to shift. There was even a drawing of some poor schmuck who duplicated himself, only to end up with four legs and no arms, while the duplicate had the opposite problem. 

The information under the "Solutions" heading was confusingly brief. It said, _Hold one another, and be made whole._

"I've got good news and bad news," Stiles said when he came banging back into the house. Derek Two was in the kitchen making a smoothie, and Derek was on the couch watching a show about baby animals. No one else was around, thank God.

"Give me the bad news," Derek said, at the same time Derek Two said, "What's the good news?" It was the most predictable thing to happen to Stiles all day.

"I might have found something," he said. "That's the good news," he clarified, when both Dereks simply stared at him. "The bad news is I think you have to hug it out."

"Oh. Well, that's not a big deal," Derek Two said, already coming around the kitchen island, eyes on Derek. He was smiling.

Derek looked like he'd just been told he needed to eat a live cockroach. "Keep researching," he said to Stiles, and then turned his attention back to the television.

"Derek, c'mon," Stiles urged, walking over and grabbing the remote. He clicked the TV off and nudged Derek with his knee. "We really need to solve this."

"Fine," Derek sighed, and got up, turning to face Derek Two, who was already hovering nearby, looking like he was kind of into the hugging thing. Derek held his arms stiffly away from his body, face grim, tensed like he was waiting to get kicked in the nuts.

"Wait, wait," Stiles said, when Derek Two started to step forward. "Let's do a warm up first." He slipped in between them and hugged Derek, who remained stiff as a board for a few seconds, then slowly relaxed, and wrapped both arms around Stiles' middle.

"Just pretend it's me or something," Stiles whispered in Derek's ear, running his fingers up Derek's hair in the back until he shivered a little.

"That's kind of insulting," Derek Two said.

"And kind of impossible," Derek said sourly, but he let his forehead drop to Stiles' shoulder and sighed out a long breath as Stiles rubbed his back a little.

"Okay. Now you guys," Stiles said, when he felt like Derek was sufficiently drugged on affection to be cooperative. Unsurprisingly, it was Derek Two who did all the work, stepping forward and giving Derek a full-body hug, not even flinching when he plastered himself so close their junk pressed together. 

Their junk was _totally pressing together_ , and once Stiles noticed it, he couldn't look away. Derek glared at Stiles over Derek Two's shoulder as Stiles swiftly yanked his thoughts away from that topic. He wasn't thinking about it, he told himself. He wasn't thinking about two Derek dicks pressed against each other, and he definitely wasn't thinking about putting himself in the mid—

"Stiles!" Derek snarled.

"I can't help it!" Stiles protested. Seeing the two Dereks touching each other like that. Well. It was something.

It was something, all right.

~*~

It didn't work.

~*~

Another week passed in which the alpha pack continued to be annoying, and Stiles came up with exactly zero new solutions to the Dereks' shifting problem. One of the alpha twins—no one could tell them apart—ambled into the gelato shop and flirted menacingly with Danny while he was waiting in line for his scoop of stracciatella. Kali and Ennis followed Enrique home from work every night for three days straight. Someone clawed the side of Derek Two's car, though that could actually have been Derek. Stiles very carefully didn't ask.

Three middle-aged women moved into the old farmhouse where Dad had found Derek's phone, and turned it into a hobby farm named Sweet Peas. It was surprisingly prosperous surprisingly quickly, which made everyone wonder. You couldn't be too careful about strangers in Beacon Hills, particularly successful ones.

"Look at this. They've been in town, what, ten days?" Stiles said, as a bunch of Derek's pack stood around the Dereks' kitchen table, staring suspiciously at a pile of produce. 

"There's no way they grew this in a just over a week," Derek said.

"Definitely evil," Erica agreed.

"These tomatoes are beautiful, though," Derek Two said, poking one with a finger. "Do you think it's safe to eat them?"

"Why don't you find out?" Derek said.

"Did you really make me drive all the way over here to look at a bunch of vegetables?" Jackson demanded. He was sitting on the kitchen island, flipping his car keys over his finger again and again and again, just in case anyone forgot for thirty seconds that he had a Porsche.

" _Evil_ vegetables," Stiles reminded him. "Maybe." He squatted down until he was eye-to-eye with a yellow pepper and peered at it from several different angles, looking for any sign of shenanigans. The pepper gave away nothing. He sighed and stood back up.

The problem with Beacon Hills was that the influx of fuckery never stopped. The supernatural trouble makers were never courteous and said, "Oh, well, the alpha pack is in town for the summer so lay the fuck off Beacon Hills and let them deal with one thing at a time." That never happened. So Derek's pack had to keep handling shit like this while also trying to outsmart the alpha pack at the same time, and it was kind of exhausting.

"Is this really a priority?" Enrique asked, because he was new and didn't realize that this was how they rolled in Beacon Hills.

"Sadly, yes," Erica said, hopping up to sit on the kitchen island next to Jackson. "Last year we had to perform an exorcism on a haunted bubble machine."

"Oh, yeah! I still have it. It's in my garage," Stiles said.

"You have a bubble machine? You should bring it over here," Derek Two said, eyes lighting up at the thought of bubbles. Then he frowned. "Unless it's still haunted."

"Jesus, I'm outta here," Jackson said, sounding disgusted. No one tried to stop him when he left.

In the end, Derek dispatched Isaac to the Sweet Peas' booth at the farmer's market to ingratiate himself and figure out if they were going to be a problem. It worked like a charm, as always. Isaac _looked_ like a sweet little innocent thing but was far from it, and Derek used that to their advantage constantly—he almost always picked Isaac when they needed someone to go in and charm people with his adorableness and then possibly commit an act of violence against them. 

He was perfect for those kinds of jobs, because he had the bruised waif look that made people let their guard down, and he tended to do what Derek wanted with no questions asked, whereas Boyd usually wanted all the facts laid out before he kidnapped someone. Stiles worried sometimes that they were grooming Isaac to be a serial killer, but Derek felt confident that he would know immediately if Isaac ever decided to start coloring outside the lines. 

The Sweet Peas turned out to be hedgewitches, which meant—for once—they weren't a threat to anyone in Beacon Hills. Isaac got some free cardamom bread and an invitation to tour the farm, and Derek Two made an awesome batch of marina with the not-evil tomatoes.

"They make their own kombucha, too," Isaac said, when he reported back to the group after his field trip to the farm. He had a stain on his shirt that looked a lot like blueberry jam or pie filling, and Stiles suspected he was holding out on them.

"What flavors?" Danny asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. 

"What the hell is kombucha?" Stiles wanted to know.

"It's gross," Jackson said. 

"Blueberry, raspberry, ginger peach," Isaac listed for Danny, ticking them off on his fingers. "Um. I think apple cranberry? I forget."

"I could make you some kombucha," Derek Two chimed in, and Isaac immediately beamed at him. Derek Two smiled back. "Whatever flavor you want."

"I'll take some, too," Danny said right away. He looked over at Jackson and said, "It's not gross."

"What the hell is kombucha?" Stiles asked again.

"You guys can talk about that later," Derek said, looking aggravated. 

Stiles huffed and took out his phone. Fine. He'd just Google it.

"Hey, where's Scott?" Isaac asked, finally noticing he wasn't there.

Jackson suddenly stopped slouching and looked around the room, like he was double-checking to make sure Scott really wasn't in attendance. "Yeah, how did McCall get out of this boring-ass meeting and I didn't?"

"Focus," Derek said through gritted teeth, which was his way of avoiding the question, because he didn't actually know where Scott was. Stiles did, but he wasn't going to say a word. This was the third or fourth meeting Scott had missed this summer because he was with Allison.

Stiles was going to have to talk to Derek about it soon, because the longer it went on, the harder it got to hide the fact that something was going on. And Derek was bound to get suspicious eventually, and if he found out on his own…well, Stiles had a much better plan for how to break it to him gently.

"Hey," Stiles asked, poking at his phone. "How do you spell 'kombucha?'"

No one answered him, but Google was forgiving, and within minutes he had all the information he needed, which was that kombucha was basically tea with a big booger in it. Fucking hedgewitches, man.

When he tuned back in to the meeting, it was clear this pack strategy session was just as pointless as all the others before it had been, and Stiles was feeling particularly uninterested in rehashing the same useless information again. He nibbled disinterestedly on a piece of pizza while Danny and Lydia argued over the value of hacking into Deucalion's phone. They'd done it before, two years ago, and it had been a waste of time—it was mostly text messages with the other alphas arguing over whose turn it was to pick up dinner. 

"Well, let me know if you have any better ideas," Danny said, clearly affronted.

No one else had any better ideas.

Finally, Stiles lost his patience. Every suggested plan so far would only annoy the alpha pack, or inconvenience them. It was time for a big move, but no one was admitting it.

"Okay," Stiles said, tossing his pizza plate on the coffee table. "I'm just going to put the obvious solution out there, since no one else is saying it out loud: what if Derek Two joins the alpha pack? They'll think they've won, they'll go away for good, Derek Two will have his own pack to hang with, and we live the rest of our lives in peace." 

"I don't like that solution," Isaac said immediately, to no one's surprise.

"I'm not sure I want to be part of their pack," Derek Two said dubiously.

"I'm sure they're nice," Stiles said, trying to sound as positive and upbeat as possible.

Derek Two narrowed his eyes at Stiles, and suddenly looked so much more like Derek it gave Stiles a moment of mental whiplash. "If they're so nice, why do they keep attacking you guys?" he asked suspiciously.

"It won't work anyway," Derek said, bringing his usual positive mental attitude into the proceedings. He was leaning in the doorway behind the couch and hadn't said much of anything so far.

"Why not?" Stiles asked, craning around to look at him.

"It's not feasible," Derek said flatly. 

"But _why not?_ " Stiles pressed, getting a little angry. He was tired of Derek's evasive answers about the alphas, and this was not the time to withhold information.

"Stiles is right," Emilio chimed in. "You need to tell us what you know." Stiles gave him a grateful look, glad to have the support. 

"I think it's time you shared all your information with us," Boyd said. His tone wasn't aggressive or threatening, but there was a definite air of not accepting any more bullshit to it. 

There was a general murmur of agreement from the room, and Stiles gave Derek a pleading look, on the off chance that would help at all.

When they'd moved into the house, Derek Two had hung a motivational poster on the wall of living room that intoned the value of **TEAMWORK**. Derek's gaze was fixed on it now as his jaw worked stiffly. Everyone kept quiet, waiting.

"The only way to join the alpha pack," Derek said finally, "is to kill everyone in your own pack." He cut a glance over at Stiles. "Even the humans."

The stunned silence in the room was eventually broken by Derek Two, who clapped his hands on his thighs, stood up, and said, "Then I'm _definitely_ not joining the alpha pack. Who wants pudding?"

~*~

Stiles managed to keep his temper under control until everyone else left to go to Derek Two's poetry slam, but as soon as the last car pulled out of the driveway, he instantly wheeled around and glared at Derek, who was standing in the middle of the living room, ready for it. He knew Stiles was pissed. _Justifiably pissed_ , in Stiles' opinion.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Stiles demanded, instead of calling Derek every horrible word he could think of, which was what he really wanted to do. 

Derek was completely unrepentant. He stalked toward Stiles, face contorted with banked anger. "Why _would_ I tell you? You guys barely trust me as it is," he said, voice low and frustrated. "If you knew I was constantly being pressured to kill all of you to save my own skin, would that help?"

There hadn't been many times in his life that Stiles was at a loss for words, and he wasn't now, exactly. Right now he had what felt like the opposite problem: he couldn't decide on one thing to say when so many outraged, angry, devastated things were going through his head all at once. He was _choked_ with words.

He'd thought all this time things had been getting better, that Derek was relaxing, opening up, settling into his role as alpha and big brother and boyfriend. Stiles saw now he'd been fooling himself. Maybe things had looked a little better superficially, but underneath it all, Derek was still holding them all at arm's length. Even him.

Stiles walked over to his shoes, abandoned under the coffee table, and shoved his feet into them without tying them.

When he glanced at Derek again, he looked uneasy, like he knew he'd said something beyond damaging. Stiles was unmoved. He'd had enough.

"Trust is a two way street, Derek," Stiles said, scooping his keys up off the table. "Stop acting like we're all going to abandon you any second, and maybe we'll start feeling like you want us around."

He turned his back on Derek and walked out the door.

~*~

Just his luck, when Stiles got home his dad was there, and so were Rachel and Edgar. Stiles couldn't help but curse the timing. The last thing he felt like doing was smiling and acting like nothing was wrong, but Rachel and Edgar didn't spend time at the house that often, and he didn't want to be a dick. He knew his dad really wanted everyone to like each other.

Dad was surprised to see Stiles home so early—or at all, probably—but he put another plate on the table, and Stiles sat down to eat pork chops with them before he left for his shift at the store. His dad clearly knew something was wrong—he was watching Stiles a little too closely, joking with him a little too heartily--but was kind enough to not ask in front of the others, for which Stiles was grateful. 

When he went upstairs to change his shirt, Stiles checked his phone and found it bombarded with text messages from everyone but Derek. 

Erica said, _I hope you gave him hell_ , which was just like her. Lydia's text was of a similar tone, while Jackson cut right to the chase with, _your boyfriend's a dick_. 

There was also a message from Derek Two: _Call me if you think I can help._ Stiles appreciated the offer, but getting him involved was probably the least helpful thing that could happen at this point.

Scott's text said, _Hey I heard what happened. You can call me if you need to. Allison understands._ Word certainly traveled fast on the old werewolf grapevine.

Stiles replied to everyone but Jackson with gratitude or vague assurances everything would be fine, and Scott, who got the plain, unadulterated truth, communicated via a string of profanity-laden texts. 

_He was turning into an okay guy for a while there,_ Scott said, once Stiles' diatribe was over. _But ever since DT showed up he's turned back into a butthead._

So Stiles wasn't the only one who had noticed the change—both changes, the previous one for the better, and the recent regression. _I know,_ he replied. _Really threw him for a loop._

And it was Stiles' fault, which he was feeling progressively more guilty about. What made it worse was that Derek had never once said that out loud. He'd never blamed Stiles for it, or told him all of this was his fault. Not one time. That didn’t excuse this, though. This was an issue that went way back before Derek Two.

Scott said, _I'd invite you over later but I'm pretty sure Derek will be waiting for you when your shift is over._

 _He better not be_ , Stiles sent back.

~*~

Derek was sitting on the hood of Stiles' Jeep waiting for him when his shift was over.

"Get off my Jeep or you're paying to fix any dents you leave in it," Stiles said as he walked across the parking lot. Derek didn't move or speak. "I will drive home with you right there, like the world's most infuriating hood ornament," he threatened. 

Derek still didn't reply, but when Stiles walked around the front of the Jeep to get to the driver's side, Derek tried to grab his arm. Stiles sidestepped him and kept going.

"I know you're upset—" Derek started to say, finally hopping down.

"Wow, look at you, you're like a detective or something!" Stiles said snidely. He unlocked the door and got in, but before he could close it Derek slipped into the gap and blocked it with his body. 

"Stiles, don't do this," Derek said, and his voice had an edge of pleading to it that Stiles had never heard before. 

Sighing, Stiles turned sideways so his legs were dangling out the door, and Derek stepped between his knees, nudging them apart so he could get closer. 

"I'm not forgiving you this easy," Stiles said stubbornly, but when Derek slid his hands up Stiles' thighs to wrap around his hips, and Stiles gave in and put his arms around Derek's neck. "You can't keep stuff from us like that. Especially big stuff. We've been over this, remember?"

"I know. I'm sorry," Derek said. His face looked like he was being stabbed with rusty scissors but his voice was sincere.

"It really pisses me off that you don't trust me," Stiles told him. He had been patient—very, very patient, and part of the reason why was because he'd thought all along there was progress being made, no matter how slow. "I thought things were different."

Derek blinked in obvious surprise. "Of course I trust you," he said. "More than anyone else." He looked away, through the Jeep's window at the empty parking lot. "But I know even you don't trust me. Not completely."

Stiles didn't know what to say to that, or how to explain it in a way that wouldn't make things worse, because there was a grain of truth there, though probably not in the way Derek thought. Stiles didn't know how to explain that he trusted Derek with his life, he trusted Derek with Scott's life, he trusted Derek to do whatever was necessary to take care of all of them in any way he could, but he didn't trust Derek with _himself._ He didn't trust Derek to make decisions in his own best interest. 

And he wasn't sure anyone else did, either, even if they probably wouldn't have described it that way. But it showed in their actions. What Derek didn't seem to understand was that when the guy who was supposed to be your leader acted like he was the most dispensable one in the whole group, it was hard to let yourself depend on him.

Derek had a self-sacrificing streak ten miles wide, and had done a lot of stupid, heroic things to save every one of them at some point, even Jackson. Stiles had no doubt that if joining the alpha pack didn't involve killing everyone else, Derek would have done it years ago, would have walked away from all of them if it meant keeping them safe, and spent the rest of his life suffering so they could be happy. It made him so angry sometimes, that Derek didn't value himself as much as Stiles valued him. It made him angry that he had to worry about Derek doing something stupid that would take him away from Stiles forever.

"Yeah, well, this kind of crap doesn't help," Stiles said, because now was not the time to delve into all of that. "You're gonna have to grovel a little. Not just to me, but to the pack." 

Stiles was only half-serious, but Derek didn't roll with the joke. He took a deep breath, let it out. "I was thinking…maybe I should be the one to leave," he said, still very firmly not looking Stiles in the eye.

"What?" Stiles said, shocked. "That's stupid! You can't leave. You're the alpha!" 

Derek shrugged. " _He's_ an alpha, too." His next words were heartbreaking: "And he's a better one than me." 

"Hey, look at me," Stiles said, not giving Derek a choice by grabbing his face and making him do it. Derek's eyes were big and sad and _ugh_ Stiles hated that he'd done this to him. "He's not better, he's just _different._ "

The corner of Derek's mouth ticked up in a pitiful attempt at a wry smile. "Stiles, you know that's not true," he said. "He's practically taken over my pack already. They like him better."

God, that hurt. Derek had faults, just like everyone else, but one thing he never did was _give up._ And Stiles was not going to let him do it now.

"That's because he doesn't actually take any responsibility for the thankless parts of being an alpha," Stiles explained, because apparently Derek was too dumb to see that himself. Derek had put himself in the role of the cheerless parent, the taskmaster, the disciplinarian, which left Derek Two to be the fun dad. _Of course_ they were going to enjoy his company more. "But Derek, _you're_ the one keeping everyone alive."

"Luck," Derek scoffed. 

Stiles cuffed him affectionately upside the head and then kissed him. "You don't give yourself enough credit," he said. Derek turned his head and nipped at Stiles' thumb in retaliation, so Stiles dropped his hands down to Derek's shoulders instead, but didn't let go completely, just in case Derek was planning to run away from home right this second. "I'm not joking."

Stiles was probably biased, but he didn't think _anyone_ gave Derek enough credit for everything he'd done as the alpha over the years. Here was a guy not brought up to be a leader, who had made some pretty spectacular mistakes, and was often scared out of his motherfucking mind. Here was a guy faced with trying to make a cohesive pack out of a bunch of dumb kids, some of them resentful, some of them just flat out douchebags. Somehow, despite all the things that were not in his favor, they were still alive and kicking, and the pack was even growing. If Stiles hadn't fucked it all up a few months ago by throwing the monkey wrench of Derek Two into the mix, Derek probably would have continued on his upward climb toward being a really good alpha and a friendly human being.

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes, like Stiles was full of shit, which Stiles did not appreciate. "I could barely get them to come to training until he showed up. They--"

"If it weren't for you, there wouldn't _be_ any training," Stiles interrupted. Derek Two was too easily talked into going for ice cream instead of sparring, and was never brutally honest with the betas when they fucked up like Derek was. For all that Derek worried incessantly about keeping everyone alive, Derek Two seemed to not have a single care in the world, and lived like it. Stiles was certain that if Derek Two had been the alpha, they would have all been dead years ago. 

Derek looked like he wanted to believe Stiles, but couldn't quite bring himself to. His hands had slipped under the bottom of Stiles' shirt, like the skin-on-skin contact was reassuring.

"Derek, he gets them here, but you're the one who's teaching them everything," Stiles barreled on. It felt like he was getting somewhere. "He's just the draw, and now that they're focused and actually showing up, they're learning, and they're learning from _you._ "

"I guess you're right," Derek said. His tone was grudging, but his shoulders already felt less tense under Stiles' hands so he must have believed the words a little.

"So here's a _crazy idea_ ," Stiles pressed on. "Maybe the pack needs both. Maybe they need someone who bosses them around and teaches them to fight, _and_ someone who takes them out for ice cream and tells them how smart they are and organizes cribbage tournaments. I mean, that's not the weirdest thing you've ever heard, is it?"

Derek's answering grimace was sort of hilarious. 

But talking it through with Derek had made it even more clear in Stiles' mind. All along he'd been tossing around the theory that Derek Two was a part of Derek, had been made from him. Kind of like Adam's rib, without all the insulting patriarchal bullshit.

But if that really were the case, and if Derek Two was part of Derek, that meant somewhere inside of Derek was a guy who liked to give hugs and crack jokes. Somewhere inside Derek was a guy who could inspire love and devotion and loyalty from all of them, and give it back in spades. 

Stiles knew that guy, intimately, and had for a long time already. Now, everyone else did, too. The problem was, they didn't even realize it.

Stiles also knew that telling Derek _he_ could try being a little more like Derek Two would probably backfire spectacularly, and anyway that wasn't really the root of the problem here. He'd have to come at it from another direction.

"Okay, so if you can't do what he does, and he can't do what you do, then the pack needs both of you, and you need to work together," Stiles said, and then smooshed Derek's cheeks with his hands when Derek tried to grimace again. "Listen to me. Maybe you should treat him like an ally. You know, trust him a little. Let everyone else see that you're accepting him. Maybe then they won't feel like they have to choose a side." 

Right now Stiles was pretty much the only one on Derek's side, but neither of them said it.

"Maybe," Derek mumbled through his smooshed face. Then he clammed up, so Stiles figured that was all he was going to get, but that was a lot more encouraging than anything he'd gotten so far, so he was just going to have to be happy with it.

"All right," he said, letting go of Derek's face. They'd both given some ground, there was no point in pushing. He leaned in to give Derek a kiss, and Derek was the one who kept it going, tugging Stiles’ forward so their bodies were flush against each other.

"Come home with me," Derek said against his mouth.

"Give you a ride home, you mean," Stiles said. He wasn't fooled—Derek's car wasn't here.

"That, too," Derek said.

"I want macaroni and cheese. _Before_ the makeup sex," Stiles said. He hadn't eaten much at dinner; he'd been too upset. “You owe me mac n’ cheese.”

"I'll make you mac n’ cheese," Derek said, and kissed the tip of Stiles' nose.

"With ketchup," Stiles pressed, as Derek let go of him and stepped back so he could close the door. Derek hated it when Stiles put ketchup on his mac n' cheese.

"Forget it, I'll walk home," Derek said, but he skirted around to the other side of the Jeep and got in.

~*~

Shortly after Stiles got home from work the following afternoon he heard the Camaro pull into the driveway, and immediately checked his phone to see if he'd missed a text. It wasn't like Derek to just come over without giving Stiles a heads up, and it certainly wasn't like him to park in the driveway, and it…wasn't actually him getting out of the car. It was Derek Two. Stiles knew that as soon as he put one foot out onto the driveway; Derek wouldn't be caught dead in flip-flops.

Stiles was out of the house and across the lawn before Derek Two even closed the car door. "What's wrong? Is he okay? What happened?"

"He's fine! He's fine!" Derek Two said, lifting his hands in a warding gesture. "He sent me to make sure _you're_ okay."

Stiles nearly sagged all the way to the ground in relief. "Oh, thank God," he said, hunching over to brace himself on his knees. His heart felt like it was going to explode from fear. He made himself take a few deep breaths before he straightened up. "Wait. Why wouldn't _I_ be okay? And why do you have his car?" Derek Two drove a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle with a bumper sticker urging the world to coexist. Derek's lip curled every time he laid eyes on it.

"I let Isaac use it. He and a few of the others went down to Six Flags," he said distractedly as he looked around up and down the street, nostrils flaring a little like he was sniffing for nearby alphas. "We should go inside."

"Are they here?" Stiles asked, spinning in a quick circle, but everything looked fine to him.

"No," Derek Two said, but he had already started herding Stiles back toward the front door, which Stiles had left standing open in his panic. "But two of them showed up at our house today." He always referred to it as "our house" while Derek determinedly called it _his_ house. "

"But he's okay?" Stiles asked again, locking the door behind them once they got inside. 

"He's fine," Derek Two said, craning his neck to see as much of first floor as he could. "But Penelope saw the fight and called the cops." Penelope lived across the street. Derek Two knew all the neighbors' names and baked them muffins, while Derek was polite but not overly friendly. The entire neighborhood probably thought Derek had some kind of multiple personality thing going on and couldn't make up his mind about his facial hair. "They took off when they heard the sirens, but Derek had to stay and give the cops his statement. He was worried they'd come here next."

"Well. Better safe than sorry and all that, I guess," Stiles said, suddenly feeling awkward now that his panic had receded. He'd never actually been alone with Derek Two before, and it was weirder than he'd thought it would be; Stiles didn't know how to act around him without the others as a buffer. He looked so much like Derek, but he behaved so differently; it was really throwing him for a loop now that they were standing here in Stiles' house staring at each other. 

While Derek Two sent Derek a text message letting him know everything was okay, Stiles went in the garage and dug out an old oatmeal carton full of mountain ash. Derek Two trailed along after him, wrinkling his nose when the wind blew the wrong way, as Stiles laid down a ring around the entire house. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about hiding it or explaining it. Years ago he'd told his dad it was a natural way to keep ants away.

"Must really work," Dad had said, patting Stiles on the back. "Haven't seen an ant in the house in years."

Once he got back around to the back door, Stiles brought the container into the house with him, leaving the threshold open so Derek Two could get in and out; he'd seal the circle after he left. He left the carton on top of the fridge where he could get to it quickly, and went to wash his hands while Derek Two patrolled the backyard, walking along the hedge that divided it from the neighbor's property. He was really taking his protection detail duty seriously, almost comically so, but Stiles was happy to let him.

Satisfied everything was okay for the time being, Stiles made a quick trip upstairs to grab his laptop, planning to get settled in the living room with Derek Two until Derek called him off, but when he came back downstairs Dad was walking in the front door, followed by Rachel, who was followed by Edgar. Edgar was carrying a handful of action figures and had picked a really bad time for a visit.

"Oh, shit!" Stiles said, skidding to a halt.

"He swore!" Edgar yelled, and pointed at Stiles. Dad gave Stiles a look like he wanted to strangle him. "That's a quarter!"

"Who's—" Stiles heard Derek Two say, right before he came out of the kitchen and walked right into Stiles' back, making Stiles stumble forward a step before he caught himself.

"Oh, shit," Derek Two said weakly.

"Another swear!" Edgar shouted. "Two quarters!"

"Well. Hi, Derek," Dad said, holding out a hand for Derek Two to shake. His smile was a little grim but his voice was friendly enough. "Good to see you."

"Uh," Stiles said, but before he could come up with anything else to follow that witty opener, Derek Two smoothly stepped around him and shook Dad's hand.

"Nice to see you, too, Sheriff," Derek Two said, and smiled. Then he turned toward Rachel and held his hand out to her, too. "Derek Hale," he said, and turned the watts up on his smile. Stiles could practically see Rachel melting under it. 

Rachel introduced herself, and then Edgar, and then there was an awkward pause, probably because Stiles was standing there acting like the world was ending for what appeared to be no reason at all, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. Derek Two busied himself by forking two quarters over to a gloating Edgar.

Meanwhile, Stiles' dad gave Derek Two a once over, taking in the flip-flops and the clean-shaven face and the Iron Man T-shirt. "This is kind of a new look for you," he said. "Last time I saw you, you were more of a leather jacket and manly stubble kind of guy." 

Stiles made a choking sound. Derek Two's left eyelid twitched.

It was Edgar who saved the moment by stepping up and stabbing Derek Two in the leg with an action figure.

"Will you play X-Mens with me?" he asked, offering up one of his toys.

Derek Two looked down at him. "Sure," he said, grinning as he took the action figure from him. "Wolverine, huh? Wolverine is cool."

"Wolverine is _awesome_ ," Edgar corrected. "But Captain America is awesomer." He eyed Derek Two's shirt. "Iron Man is okay."

"Anyone want a beer?" Dad asked the room at large.

"God yes," Stiles said.

~*~

Derek Two stayed long enough to have a beer with Dad, play lots of X-Mens with Edgar, eat carryout chicken for dinner, and charm Rachel into promising him a batch of maple bacon donuts. He was a bonafide hit with everyone, which should have been a relief, but instead made Stiles kind of sad. 

Ever since he'd told his dad about Derek, Stiles had been thinking about including Derek in family stuff, but it always seemed like there was some kind of problem going on and Derek was too busy or too cranky or too blood-covered to make an appearance. Now it had happened, purely by accident, and it wasn't even Derek. All this stuff, the beer and the action figures and the donut promise, should have been Derek's to experience.

Though Stiles had to admit, if it had been the actual Derek here when everyone showed up, there might not have been any action figures or donuts. Stiles was going to have a really hard time explaining the personality change when his Derek finally took his rightful place.

"Thanks for that," Stiles said, as he walked Derek Two out to the car later. Derek had finally given them the all clear via text message half an hour ago, but Derek Two had insisted on helping with the after-dinner clean-up, which had been a trial for Stiles, standing next to Derek Two at the sink, bumping elbows and laughing. Stiles, used to residing in Derek's personal space, had kept drifting toward him without thinking about it, and then feeling guilty about it. 

Even worse, it was hard to look at Derek Two, at how open and happy and affectionate he was, and wonder if Derek had ever been like this. Worse, to wonder if this was what Derek would be like now if his family hadn't been killed. If Kate hadn't gotten ahold of him before Stiles did. There was no way to know, but Stiles tortured himself by contemplating it anyway. 

"No problem," Derek Two shrugged. "Happy to help." 

"All right. See you," Stiles said, lifting a hand to wave, but Derek Two stepped a little closer, smiling, and said, "What, no goodnight kiss?" 

Stiles' body tensed pleasantly in anticipation, conditioned to respond to his own Derek, but Stiles shook his head. "Derek would tear you into pieces so small they'd fit through a sieve," he said.

Derek Two lifted a cocky eyebrow. "Might be worth it."

"I’m not that good," Stiles snorted.

"I am," Derek Two said with an exaggerated leer that made Stiles laugh, breaking the tension, and Derek Two laughed as well.

Stiles didn't have much doubt Derek Two was really good—he'd heard the sounds coming from his bedroom, and seen the blissed out looks on the faces of his hook ups in the morning--but tonight had been an eye-opener for Stiles. Derek had said it would be cheating, and at the time Stiles had scoffed at the idea, but now that Derek Two had been here so long, and was clearly so very different from Original Recipe Derek, Stiles had to concede he had a point. As titillating as seeing the two Dereks hugging each other had been, being alone with Derek Two like this felt like cheating. This whole night had felt like cheating.

"Hey," Stiles said, as Derek Two got in the car. "Do me a favor. Don't tell him about tonight. About my dad and stuff."

"I won't," Derek Two said. He paused, hand on the door, and looked up at Stiles. "But I am going to tell him how lucky he is."

~*~ 

On the night of the full moon, Stiles let Derek pin his arms above his head while Derek slowly jerked him off, and then came all over Stiles' butt afterwards, which was one of Derek's favorite things to do. Stiles enjoyed it, too, but it always took forever, because there was edging and then there was what Derek did, which was like Olympic-level orgasm denial, so it was kind of a time investment. 

After they showered and had a snack, Stiles decided this was as good a time as any to bring up Scott and the Argents.

It went about as well as could be expected, which was to say not well at all.

In the morning Derek's feathers were still a little ruffled, so even though they were pressed for time--the pack was supposed to come over for a strategy session--Stiles took Derek out for apology waffles anyway.

They pulled back into driveway right behind Derek Two, who got out of his Beetle carrying two boxes of donuts and a jug of orange juice. It was just past noon, which still qualified as early morning on a Saturday for most of the people in the Hale pack.

Derek Two's face brightened when he saw Derek and Stiles. Derek's face did the complete opposite, as usual.

"Hey," Derek Two said, "You know, I was thinking there's room in the back for a hot tub—"

"Can it," Derek said, shouldering past him. So much for teamwork. Stiles sighed and held the door open for both Dereks, then followed them into the house.

"I brought breakfast!" Derek Two said as the Dereks walked into the living room, his sunny disposition not dented in the slightest by Derek's sour attitude.

"Great, Tigger and Eeyore are finally here," Jackson said impatiently. "Can we start now?"

"Shut up and eat a donut," Danny said as he helped Derek Two open up the boxes.

"I want to talk about the Argents," Scott piped up. He couldn't have picked a worse time to bring it up—even the apology waffles had barely made a dent in Derek's bad mood.

Stiles bugged his eyes out at Scott and made frantic slashing motions across his throat with his hands, hoping he would take the hint and drop it, but it was too late. Derek slowly turned his head until his eyes met Scott's. Scott held his stare squarely and didn't back down. 

"Yes, let's talk about the Argents," Derek said, still looking Scott dead in the eye. His tone was overly-calm and there was that sarcastic asshole smile again. It set off every warning bell in Stiles' head. "Let's talk about how you've been meeting with them secretly behind our backs."

There was a collective gasp from the room.

"Oh, fuck," Stiles groaned. Of all the ways this could have come out…

" _Scott_ ," Derek Two said disapprovingly. It was the first time Stiles could remember Derek Two scolding anyone.

"Wait a minute. The hunters? You've been meeting with _hunters?_ " Enrique asked. He looked positively stunned, and Stiles didn't blame him.

"Not all of them, just Allison!" Scott protested.

The room briefly erupted in chatter, various versions of "How could you?" and "It's not what you think!" until Derek Two held up a hand and said, "Wait, wait." Everyone fell silent. "Let's listen to Scott's side of the story."

Stiles had to say, Scott handled it like a champ. He calmly laid out the whole situation so far, how he'd been approached by Allison, had begun a tentative communication with her. Scott talked about how the Argents had, over the last few years of being led by Allison, shifted their focus from hunting werewolves to protecting people. They were willing to work with the Hale pack to keep the peace in their town, as long as the pack was willing to do the same.

When Scott finished talking, the room was quiet but not tense. He'd made a good case, and been honest about the rocky history between the Hale pack and the Argent hunters, and the history between Allison and himself. It was clear he wasn't trying to mislead anyone about the circumstances.

"What do you guys think?" Derek asked the room at large. He didn't often ask for a consensus, and Stiles could see how taken aback everyone was by it now. 

A few people thought it was worth a try, some people were vehemently against it. Boyd and Erica were understandably unwilling to forgive and forget being tortured. Enrique and Emilio, who had come from a pack that had been nearly wiped out by hunters who exercised the nuclear option on werewolves for the tiniest offense, were also opposed. Everyone else was either in favor of an alliance, or willing to explore the idea more.

"I'll think about it," Derek said, once everyone had had their say. Scott looked disappointed, but Stiles would explain to him later exactly what a big deal this was, after Derek's reaction last night, and he'd probably see it differently.

"So let's talk about our more immediate problem," said Boyd, always the pragmatist.

The immediate problem was that a gang of elves—bunch of annoying, hairy little fuckers on Harleys—had blown into Beacon Hills and tried to claim it as their new base of operations. They hadn't hurt anyone yet, or made a direct challenge to Derek's pack, but there'd been a lot of posturing and asshole behavior, including riding their stupid motorcycles in the Preserve. 

"Maybe we should let them have Beacon Hills," Erica joked, after Danny had finished summarizing the situation. "Then the alpha pack is their problem."

"Seconded," Jackson said, flipping through Derek Two's _Real Simple_ magazine. He looked supremely bored, as if none of this actually had an effect on him, even though it certainly did. Stiles sometimes wondered why he even came to these meetings.

"Or we could _pretend_ to let them have it, sit back and watch them fight the alpha pack for us," Stiles said, sort of into the idea now that he thought about it. "Then we swoop in and take it back!"

"I like Stiles' plan," Scott chimed in.

"We're not letting anyone take over Beacon Hills," Derek said, looking annoyed. "Or pretending to, either."

It was too late, though. Several other people were showing interest in the idea. "Can a gang of elves beat an alpha pack?" Emilio asked.

" _No_ ," Derek said firmly. "And they're our problem, so we're going to handle them."

Scott and Stiles groaned in unison, but Derek ignored them.

"All right, so we take them on," Lydia asked. She already had her iPad out and was tapping the screen. "Do we need to research this or do you know what to do?" she asked Derek.

"It'll be easier to fight them with magic," he said, which was his way of saying he didn't have a complete answer without actually admitting he didn't have a complete answer. 

"Well, we've got that covered!" Derek Two said, giving Stiles a thumbs up.

"Great. We're fucked," Jackson said.

"Hey!" Stiles protested. He really, really wished Jackson would stop coming to the meetings.

"Actually," Derek said, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling, "There's someone else who might be interested in fighting a bunch of elves with magic." He looked over at Derek Two and said, "I need you and Isaac to do something."

~*~

Elves took even longer to burn than ogres, and it took twice as many firecrackers to get a good fire going. They were small, but dense.

When Stiles finally got back to the Dereks' house, it was really late and Stiles was exhausted. Derek was crashed out on the couch in front of the TV, but he woke up when Stiles climbed on top of him, looping an arm around his neck and holding him close.

"You smell like a burnt tire," Derek grumbled into Stiles' ear. 

"Hey, any time you wanna take over the cremation duty, it's all yours," Stiles said huffily, but he didn't have the energy to work up any actual indignation, and he certainly wasn't going to get up.

"I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your 'bro time,'" Derek said, deadpan. 

"No, stop, no," Stiles begged, clapping his hands over his ears. “I’m too exhausted to deal with this.” Derek was totally holding back a laugh—Stiles could feel him shaking with the effort. 

"Hey, YOLO," Derek said, and then finally couldn't hold it in anymore and started laughing. Stiles squirmed around a little to stay balanced on top of him.

"I'm glad you amuse yourself," Stiles groused, but he actually _was_ glad to see Derek making bad jokes and laughing again. Those things had been in short supply lately, and he hadn’t whipped out the dorky slang at all since the day of the spell.

Derek grinned at him and then opened his mouth, probably to say something else cringe-inducing, so Stiles asked, "What'd the Sweet Peas want?" They'd agreed to help Derek's pack with the elves in exchange for a favor in return, but Stiles hadn't been at the meeting where they'd negotiated the deal. He'd had to work.

The distraction worked, thank God. "No big deal," Derek said, shrugging as best he could while lying down with Stiles on top of him. "We just have to help build a new barn."

"What?" Stiles asked, flabbergasted. How was that no big deal? "An entire barn? Are you kidding me?" 

"An entire barn," Derek confirmed. His face was flushed from all the laughing, which looked really good on him, but even that couldn't distract Stiles from this stunning news.

'' _How?_ " he asked. "This isn't _Witness_! We don't know how to build a barn!"

"I guess they do," Derek said, still completely unperturbed by the idea. "We're just the muscle." 

"Ugh," Stiles said, and slumped back down onto Derek's chest. He hated doing physical stuff outside. There was always sun or rain or bugs or something. "I don't have werewolf strength, so you probably won't need me," he pointed out hopefully.

"Of course we'll need you," Derek said, patting him on the back like he was comforting a baby. "You can help the womenfolk with the food."

"If I weren't so tired right now I would make you regret that," Stiles told him.

"I know," Derek said, and slipped a hand up the back of Stiles' shirts, which was dirty pool. Stiles couldn't sarcasm effectively when Derek was rubbing soothing little circles into the small of his back. "Might be fun, though, for the pack to build a barn together."

Stiles wasn't so sure Jackson would think so, but no one really cared much what Jackson thought, so that was okay. And it was a welcome change to hear Derek endorsing a non-violent bonding activity—maybe he was finally coming around to incorporating some of Derek Two's leadership style.

"That was a good idea, seeing if the Sweet Peas wanted to help us out," Stiles said, wanting to give credit where credit was due while he was thinking of it. "And it was a good idea to send Derek Two." He'd been waiting for any sign that Derek would act on the things they'd talked about that night in the parking lot, but there'd been nothing until now. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to give him any responsibility."

Derek's hand stopped moving. "I already did," he said, sounding surprised Stiles didn't know. "Right after we talked about it."

Stiles lifted his head to look Derek in the eye, not sure he was being serious. But Derek certainly looked serious—big surprise there. "You did? What? When?" Stiles asked. Derek hadn't mentioned it at all, and Stiles hadn't wanted to push too much.

Derek urged him back down to snuggle. "That day the alpha pack got the jump on me here. I sent him to your house," Derek said. He slid his hand further up Stiles' shirts, until he could press his hand flat between his shoulder blades as he dropped a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. "I trusted him to protect you."

~*~

Perhaps provoked by the small victories Stiles had managed to eke out of the summer so far, the universe promptly set about crapping on him with renewed fervor.

Monday really lived up to its reputation as a bummer when the big ugly alpha, Ennis, got the drop on Stiles as he was getting out of his car and chased him around the house and straight into the Dereks' brand new hot tub, which Stiles had forgotten was there and failed to see in the dark. Scott and Jackson came bellowing out of the house like demon dogs in time to save Stiles' life, but not his phone. Stiles' dad, sick of replacing phones left and right, told Stiles he'd have to pay for this one himself, being a grown-up now and all, which Stiles couldn’t afford to do until he got paid.

Luckily for him, Ariel, one of his video game co-workers, came down with mono, and Stiles promptly volunteered to take her shifts. For the rest of the week he worked long days, sometimes double shifts, sometimes closing the store and then going back again just hours later to open it again. While this was happening, Derek and his pack were being run ragged by the alpha pack, and Stiles barely saw any of them. He slept at home a lot, both because after his run-in with Ennis he was a little concerned about his father's safety, and also because it was closer to the store and Stiles was trying to maximize his sleeping time. 

"You've been home a lot lately," Dad said carefully one morning when they crossed paths in the kitchen. He was wearing his Concerned Dad face. "Any particular reason?"

Stiles was tired, and hungry, and un-caffeinated, so it took him a second to catch on to the fact that his dad was gently inquiring about his relationship with Derek.

"Derek and I are fine," Stiles said, cutting to the chase. "It's just closer to come here when I have to go right back, and he's really busy." Too late, he saw the hole in that story—Dad knew Derek didn't work.

"Seems like he is," Dad agreed, to Stiles’ surprise. "I saw him over at the park the other day, coaching the pee-wee soccer team."

Stiles was glad he was turned toward the coffee pot, because then Dad didn't see his face. That was Derek Two he'd seen at the park, obviously.

"It's good to see him getting involved. I always worried about him, living in that old wreck of a house, nothing to fill his time." He clapped Stiles on the shoulder. "He had a rough couple of years there. Nice he's getting his life back on track."

"Sure is," Stiles said, because Dad didn't know he was still having rough years. There was some good stuff going on—and Stiles had a healthy enough ego to consider himself one of the things that was going very right—but Derek's life was overall still a tragedy of epic proportions. He wasn’t even a real werewolf right now.

"You should invite him over for dinner again sometime," Dad suggested as he filled his travel mug with coffee. "I'll have Rachel and Edgar over, too. Edgar would love it—he hasn't stopped talking about Derek since the last time."

"Yeah, absolutely," Stiles said, mustering up a smile from somewhere. It still bothered him that Derek Two had taken that space in Stiles' life that should have been Derek's, but there was nothing he could do about it now, and it was a low priority anyway, when compared to getting Derek's powers back and, oh, _staying alive._ Also, he was completely avoiding the whole thing out of guilt. "When things calm down a little," Stiles promised, hoping to buy some time.

"Sounds good," Dad said, and left for work, whistling on his way out the door.

That was pretty much the extent of Stiles' interaction with his dad that week, and he didn't see much of anyone else except customers at the store. Scott stopped at the house one night when Stiles happened to be home and awake, but he was on his way to meet Allison and couldn't stay long. Derek came into the shop a few times, looking hilariously uncomfortable while he leaned on the counter and talked to Stiles in between customers. Usually he brought coffee, which was much appreciated. Other than that, Stiles, stuck without a phone, was isolated from the rest of the pack, out of the loop.

Derek must have finally gotten fed up with the situation, because on Friday night Stiles came out of the store and found a brand new phone, still in the box, on the seat of his Jeep. It was too late to go get it activated, but he swung by the Verizon store the next morning on his way back to work— _again_ \--and got it taken care of. The phone was beautiful—a newer model than his old one—and he loved it, and he sent Derek a text message telling him so. 

While he was at work waiting for the gaming nerds to get their asses out of bed and start shopping, he sent text messages to pretty much everyone he knew letting them know he was back in the twenty-first century. Then he sent Derek a picture of his butt, because it seemed like the thing to do with a new phone.

 _Amazeballs, bro,_ Derek replied.

 _Hey, YOLO_ , Stiles texted back.

~*~

The giddiness that came with new electronics and copious amounts of coffee could only carry him so far, though, and by the time Stiles finished his final extra shift—a brutal open to close—he was _done_. Worn out, exhausted, no fuel left in the tank. Tomorrow was his first day off in over a week, and he intended to sleep at Derek's tonight and then screw him silly in the morning. He'd already sent Derek a text message telling him so.

When he got to the Dereks' house the only car in sight was the Camaro, so Derek was home alone. That was kind of a relief—Stiles didn’t feel like playing referee tonight, and was too tired to really enjoy any kind of group hang out time. Once he got inside, he found Derek asleep on the couch again.

It was a welcoming sight, seeing him there in all his stubbled glory, his boots on the couch cushions as usual, leather jacket in a heap on the floor. Stiles kicked off his shoes and got rid of his jeans and hoodie before crawling on top of him, groaning with relief when Derek shifted to welcome him, legs slotting together, arms coming up to hold on. He'd _missed_ this.

“Mmmm,” Stiles sighed, and shoved his hand up Derek's shirt so he could feel his heart beating while he pressed a few little kisses to his jaw. Derek reached up and ruffled Stiles' hair before sighing softly and going back to sleep. He didn't even open his eyes.

A little while later the sound of the garage door opening and closing woke Stiles up--Derek Two was back. Stiles heard him come in the house and drop his keys on the kitchen counter, and he expected him to head straight for his room, so he was a little surprised when he heard footsteps coming closer instead. He cracked an eye, just enough to give him a view of Derek Two's legs next to the couch. 

Except those couldn't be Derek Two's legs, because they were covered in black jeans, and that didn't make sense. Stiles opened his eyes a little more and saw Derek Two also had a gray T-shirt and a black leather jacket and stubble and red, red eyes, and _holy shit--_

"What the hell is going on here?" Derek— _Stiles'_ Derek—asked, voice strained with quiet fury as he glared down at them, and Stiles sat up and scrambled up off the couch---off of _Derek Two_ —so fast he landed on the floor on his butt. 

"Holy shit, that's not you," Stiles said, looking from Derek to Derek Two, who was awake now, pushing to sit up.

"Oh, are _you_ a detective now?" Derek asked snottily, and even though this was a really fucking terrible situation Stiles had to admit that was a well-chosen comeback.

"I thought he was you!" Stiles said. He lifted a hand, then helplessly let it fall into his lap. "Obviously. Derek I would never—you know I wouldn't." Derek didn't look convinced, and Stiles wanted to kick himself. He never should have said that stuff about wanting to have a threesome. Stupid stupid stupid. "You know I wouldn't," he said again, though he wasn't so sure Derek did know. "I thought he was you."

Derek turned his glowing red eyes on Derek Two. "What's your excuse?" he asked.

"I was asleep," Derek Two said, but he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and looked away guiltily.

"Dude! Not cool!" Stiles yelled, pointing at him. "Not cool at all! I did not consent to be cuddled!"

"It's not Stiles' fault," Derek Two said quickly. "He thought I was you. I shouldn't have fallen asleep in your clothes."

"That's right, you shouldn't have!" Stiles yelled. "Wait, why are you in his clothes? And why did you stop shaving?"

"He wanted me to," Derek Two said, and Stiles gave Derek a _What the fuck?_ look.

"I decided to meet with Argent, but I thought it might be a trap, so I sent him," Derek explained tersely.

"You didn't say it was a trap!" Derek Two exclaimed, looking betrayed. "You said you needed my help!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "I needed your help _not getting trapped_ ," he said, like that should have been obvious.

"Okay! So! _Big_ misunderstanding, but now everyone's in the know. We got it all sorted out," Stiles said, getting to his feet. The Dereks were still glaring at each other, both of them tensed to fight. This was a little beyond their usual casual antagonism, and Stiles didn't like it. "Whew! Glad that's over!"

It wasn't over.

"Pack your shit and get out," Derek said to Derek Two, voice so cold Stiles involuntarily took a step back. "Go find your own pack, and your own goddamn life. This one is mine."

"How about this," Derek Two said, slowly getting to his feet as his eyes lit red. Dressed like he was, standing there hairy and angry and defiant, he was like a mirror image of Derek. "How about _you_ pack _your_ shit and go?"

"Oh, fuck," Stiles said, as he was suddenly hit with the realization that the only reason this situation hadn't boiled over long ago was because Derek Two hadn't let it. He'd certainly poked at Derek, but never engaged in an outright confrontation with him like this. Now, he wasn't holding back. Months of frustration and resentment were coming to a head and Stiles really, really wished he had his pants on for it.

"That's what you've wanted all along," Derek said accusingly. "You've been trying to steal my life since you got here."

Derek Two smirked at him. "Who said anything about trying?" He waved a hand at Stiles. "I'd say I'm succeeding."

"You _did not_ just—" Stiles managed to get out before Derek lost his temper completely and launched himself at Derek Two.

Derek tackled him like a football player, and they crashed into the couch, which promptly tipped over backwards and spilled them onto the kitchen floor, where they rolled, limbs flailing, snarling. Derek broke away and got to his feet, and promptly took a roundhouse to the face and stumbled into the wall. 

Stiles had obviously seen two alphas fight before—every goddamn summer, sadly--but not when both of them were Derek, and not in such a small space. The noise was unbelievable. Just the snarling alone was probably enough to wake up the neighborhood, and that was before they started careening around the room and breaking stuff. 

They crashed into a lamp, which hit the floor, and the light bulb died with a flash and a pop. Broken glass scattered across the floor, and they didn't seem to care. They were locked together, roaring in each other's face, throwing each other against every available surface, landing punch after punch that didn't seem to do anything but make them angrier. Another lamp bit the dust.

"Oh, God, not on the PlayStation! Not on the PlayStation!" Stiles yelled, right before they landed on the PlayStation. "Goddammit!"

Stiles was at a loss. There was no way this fight would end in anything other than a draw—the pull-up contest had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt—and with no claws or fangs there was a limit to how much they could really hurt each other, but at the rate they were going they were going to knock the whole house down. And attract the attention of the neighbors while they were at it, who might call the cops. But there was no way Stiles was getting in between them this time. This was worse than trying to break up a dog fight.

Which gave him an idea. He went in the kitchen and got Derek Two's big plastic pitcher of water out of the fridge—it had slices of lemon and cucumber floating in it, but that didn't matter. Yanking the lid off, he went back into the living room and waited at the edge of the debris, because there was no way he was walking around on broken glass in his socks. When they finally rolled toward him again, Stiles upended the pitcher and emptied it on them.

They broke apart instantly, scrambling away from him and howling at the shock of the icy water. When they got to their feet, they both turned to give Stiles matching indignant looks. There was a cucumber slice stuck to the front of Derek's leather jacket.

"You!" Stiles said, pointing at Derek Two. "Go to your room." He pointed down the hallway.

Derek Two's jaw dropped.

Next Stiles turned his wrath on Derek, who was giving Derek Two a smug look. He dropped it instantly when Stiles pointed at him and said, "And _you_ go to your room. Right now. Everyone gets a time out."

"Are you serious?" Derek asked, gaping at Stiles as water dripped from his wilted hair.

"Yes," Stiles said, in his best bossy tone. "Everyone is going to calm down and then we're going to talk about this. Go."

"Ugh, fine," Derek said, sounding exactly like a sulky teenager. He wiped his wet face on his sleeve and then did as he was told, heading for the hallway, but as he stepped past Derek Two he pushed him aside with his shoulder, and Derek Two shoved him hard with both hands and they were at it again.

"Arrrgh! You're impossible!" Stiles yelled and threw the empty pitcher at them. It bounced off someone's head, and then skidded across the floor. "Destroy the place! See if I care!" he told them, as they thudded against the wall and one of Derek Two's framed motivational posters-- **LEADERSHIP** \--came crashing down.

Stiles instantly changed his mind about caring when they barreled into the door of Derek's bedroom, which burst inward. They tumbled through it and disappeared from view. 

"Shit shit shit," Stiles said, tiptoeing his way past the edge of the debris field, slipping on a wet piece of lemon. Destroying the rest of the house was one thing, but some of Stiles' stuff was in that room.

He peeked cautiously around the door, which was hanging by one hinge, a huge splinter embedded in the wall behind it. The Dereks were still grappling with each other, swearing and grunting as they each tried to get the upper hand. As Stiles darted into the room and began snatching up all his valuables—his _High School Musical_ DVDs, his _Despicable Me_ snow globe, his collection of dried insects and animal bones—the Dereks tumbled onto the bed, rolled straight off the other side and disappeared. He heard them hit the floor with synchronized grunts.

Arms overflowing, Stiles took two steps toward the door, then hesitated when the Dereks didn't immediately get back up. There were no more sounds of fighting, nothing being smashed to pieces. It was way too quiet for his liking. Had they somehow managed to knock each other unconscious at the same time? 

He darted into the master bath and stashed all his stuff in the nearly empty cabinet under the sink, then cautiously approached the bed and knelt on it, peering over the edge. He still couldn’t see anything, so he crawled a little closer and then froze when he finally got a glimpse. There on the floor, wedged between the bed and wall, the two Dereks were _making out_.

Stiles couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Derek _hated_ Derek Two, he had said so a hundred times, barely tolerated having him around at all, and Derek Two couldn’t seem to stop poking at Derek, trying to get a rise out of him. They'd been aggravating the hell out of each other for months now. And Stiles was so _stupid_ , because wasn't that exactly how he and Derek had started out? 

And the Dereks certainly weren't hating each other right now. They were kissing hungrily, and Derek Two was grabbing Derek's ass, and even if they were still kind of snarling at each other as they yanked at each other’s clothes, the way they were aggressively grinding their hips together left no doubt where this was headed, and fast.

"Hey, wait for me! Wait for me!" Stiles said, falling back onto his butt as he frantically tried to get out of his clothes. His dick was already hard, bent uncomfortably down the leg of his underwear, and he winced as he tried to work around it.

One of the Dereks—Stiles couldn’t tell which one now that they were shirtless--popped up over the edge of the bed, panting and wild-eyed, and then the other Derek appeared next to the first one. There was blood on his lip and a set of faint red scratches on his shoulder. They looked at each other, and then back at Stiles, and one of them grinned. 

Stiles actually gulped, stuck half in and half out of his underwear, when they climbed up onto the bed, eyes intent, and started crawling toward him. They were already naked and hard, and they looked like they wanted to _eat_ him. His belly started to quiver inside, and an involuntary yelp may have slipped out, but it wasn’t his fault--he was about to have a threesome with _two Dereks._ The only reason he was still able to think coherently at this point was his steadfast determination to not miss a single second of this.

They were on him in a second, stripping him with scary efficiency, and things got a little confusing for a bit while everyone tried to get their mouths and hands all over everyone else at the same time. Stiles squirmed around in the muddle of limbs, completely unable to settle on a single thing to do when there was some part of some Derek every place he looked or touched—behind him, on top of him, in his mouth, under his hands. And there were dicks _everywhere._ Everyone had a dick to play with that wasn't his own. It was pretty awesome.

Stiles slithered down the bed to get his mouth on one of those dicks, and almost got poked in the eye by the other one. He sucked one of them down, slowly jerking the other one at the same time, then slurped off and switched. They were a matched set down here, too, unsurprisingly, both of them a nice mouthful, and he went from one to the other a few times, not seriously trying to make anyone come, just appreciating this bounty of beautiful Derek dick that was all his to enjoy.

The Dereks were squirming against each other and against him, and Stiles recognized the restrained twitches Derek’s hips always made when he was in Stiles’ mouth. Someone cupped Stiles’ jaw with their hand, someone’s fingers slid through his hair. Someone—it had to be Derek Two—was pretty noisy about getting his dick sucked, kept talking about Stiles’ mouth and how much he liked it.

“God, come up here,” Derek Two—it _had_ to be him—said after a while, trying to pry Stiles’ hand off his wet cock. “I want to kiss you, come here.”

Derek, always the more direct of the two, reached down and grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck, urging him off his dick and back up the bed, guiding Stiles to lay on his back between them. Stiles thought about complaining—he’d just been getting started—but then Derek Two leaned over him, looking hungry.

“Jesus, your mouth,” Derek Two said appreciatively, running his thumb across Stiles’ lower lip before he pinned him down with one leg thrown over his thighs and kissed him. Stiles flung an arm around his shoulders and kissed him back, falling easily into it--his mouth was familiar, felt the same, tasted the same...

It wasn’t like kissing Derek at all.

There was always a little needy desperation in Derek’s kisses, like he was afraid this might be the last time they kissed at all. Which, given their lives the last few years, was pretty understandable. But Derek Two kissed like he had all the time in the world to enjoy it, and also like he was in a romance novel: deep, soulful kisses punctuated by choked off whispers buried in Stiles’ neck. He kept pausing to gaze into Stiles' eyes before kissing him again, stroking Stiles’ cheek with fingers. 

Stiles wasn’t, in theory, opposed to doing some gentle boning, but that wasn’t how he and Derek rolled, and this was kind of unnerving. He felt oddly self-conscious in a way he hadn’t since his first fumbling forays into sexytimes back in high school. He tried to respond with enthusiasm, but it just wasn’t there—he felt weird.

Derek Two slowed the kiss even more, then stopped completely, pulling back to rub his nose against Stiles’. “What’s wrong?” he asked, forehead adorably scrunched in puzzlement. 

“Nothing,” Stiles said quickly. Probably too quickly. “I just…” he said, feeling flustered. Derek Two was being so nice, which meant Stiles was kind of a jackass for complaining, right?

His hesitation set off some kind of alarm bell. “Do you want to stop?” Derek Two asked, already backing off. On Stiles’ other side, Derek sat up and moved into Stiles’ line of sight, frowning. 

“No, no! It’s fine,” Stiles said quickly, wrapping one leg around Derek Two’s hips to hold him in place. “I just--I wasn’t expecting—uh,” he said. “This to be so. Um.” Sweet? Oh, God, he couldn’t say that. _Gross._

"That's not what he likes," Derek said impatiently, then gave Stiles an uncertain look. "Is it?" Derek Two immediately looked crushed.

"I like a lot of different things," Stiles told Derek Two, trying to be diplomatic where Derek was blunt. Apparently it was his lot in life to do that _everywhere_. 

“Well, tell me what you do want,” Derek Two said, rallying. He dropped his head and left a soft kiss on the ball of Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ll do whatever you want. Tell me what you like.”

Stiles’ brain froze at the question, purely from an overabundance of possible responses, but Derek helped out by shoving Derek Two aside enough that he could flip Stiles over onto his belly. That seemed to be enough of a hint for Derek Two, because Stiles heard him say, “Mmmm, yeah,” in a low voice and then he felt two hands on his ass, spreading him open. 

Stiles clutched at the pillow, barely able to breathe as he felt what had to be Derek Two’s nose bumping lightly against the curve of his butt, followed by hot breath and a prickle of beard scraping right where things started to get a little sensitive. A slick, hot tongue landed exactly where Stiles wanted it, and he kind of went away for a while after that, moaning into the pillow and not even trying to keep still as Derek Two slowly took him apart with one soft, teasing flick of his tongue after another. 

He felt the bed dip as Derek moved, and managed to look over his shoulder and see Derek shuffling on his knees, getting right up next to Stiles’ ass, right up next to where Derek Two was practically _making out_ with Stiles’ ass. Derek was _watching_ , and really getting off on it, idly stroking his dick. Every couple seconds his tongue peeked out to swipe at his bottom lip, and his eyes actually slipped shut for a moment when he took a deep breath through his nose.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles said helplessly as Derek Two switched to long licks and open-mouthed kisses, just getting his whole face in there. It sounded _obscene._

“Shhh,” Derek said distractedly as he ran a slightly sweaty hand up Stiles’ spine. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from where Derek Two’s mouth met Stiles’ ass. “We’ve got you.” And Stiles knew that, he knew it. That was the problem. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing Derek like this and feeling Derek Two like that at the same time. It was too much. 

He closed his eyes and reached down to touch his own dick, but Derek caught his hand and held it away, ignoring Stiles’ cranky sound of protest. “Someone fuck me,” Stiles pleaded, grinding his hot face into the sheets. He didn’t bottom all that often, mainly because Derek _loved_ it and Stiles loved giving Derek whatever he wanted, but he was dying for it right now. “ _Please._ ”

“How do you want it?” Derek asked. He reached down and gave Stiles a slow, tight stroke with his fist, not nearly enough to make him come. 

Stiles wanted to scream with frustration, and Derek Two well knew it, because he made a soothing noise at his butt that did absolutely nothing to help. “You guys decide. I can’t—oh my God,” Stiles moaned as Derek Two’s tongue split him open again.

And still no one moved. Stiles was about to go all rock paper scissors on this threesome when Derek Two finally lifted his head and said, in a hoarse voice, “Where’s the lube?”

Derek let go of Stiles’ dick, and Stiles sagged back down onto the bed, gasping for air with lungs that felt too small. Derek Two was still holding onto his hips, nipping at his ass and the backs of his thighs, humming happily to himself like a chipper little cartoon character. Derek nearly fell off the bed digging the lube out of the bedside table, but he finally managed to get it out of the drawer and handed down to Derek Two, who wasn’t even trying not to laugh. 

Stiles thought it might be another eternity with the prep but apparently even Derek Two had his limits because he slicked himself up and then only took a minute with Stiles, who was already loose and wet and relaxed. He worked two fingers in, then three, while Derek gripped Stiles by the hips and refused to let him squirm against the bed.

The Dereks must have had some kind of freaky doppelganger sex telepathy or something, because without exchanging so much as a single word they moved as one when they helped Stiles turn onto his side. Derek Two spooned him from behind, slipping one arm under Stiles’ body to cradle him close, making soft noises at him, promising him they were almost there, he was going to give Stiles what he needed. The slick ridge of his cock bumped against the back of Stiles’ thighs, then slid up to rest against his balls while Derek crowded against Stiles’ front. The anticipation was _killing_ him.

Finally, Derek hooked a hand under Stiles’ knee and lifted it up, holding him open for Derek Two. Stiles made an enthusiastic sound of approval when he finally felt the head of Derek Two’s cock rub a small circle against his well-prepped ass, but it was mostly lost in Derek’s mouth when he leaned in for a kiss. Derek Two’s arm tightened around Stiles and then he flexed his hips and pressed inside, making Stiles moan at the prickle of that first stretch.

“God, Stiles, you feel amazing,” Derek Two groaned, pausing when he was all the way inside. His voice was the same as Derek’s, but somehow when Derek Two said Stiles’ name, it sounded different, like it carried a secret. It made something kind of hurt inside of Stiles, like finding a bruise you didn’t know was there until you pushed on it. Maybe Derek felt it too, because he made a needy sound in his throat and kissed Stiles harder.

Derek Two pulled out until he was just barely inside, and the first real thrust was slow and deep. Stiles broke away from Derek’s mouth, gasping, and Derek let go of his leg so Stiles could lean back onto Derek Two and open his knee up a little the way he liked when he was getting fucked from behind like this. “Is that good? Right there?” Derek Two asked, rolling his hips again.

“Nnnngh,” Stiles said, and he was actually pretty impressed with his own coherency at that point. He arched into the next thrust as Derek wiggled down the bed. 

Derek Two’s next thrust was time almost perfectly with Derek taking Stiles’ cock into his mouth, and Stiles clutched at Derek’s head and let out a shaky cry, then another as they moved in sync again, one filling him up as the other took him deep. His vision swam, and every thought in Stiles’ head dissolved into a staticky fizz of sensation overload. 

Stiles had never done anything like this before. Even having fingers in his ass while he was getting his dick sucked—which he loved--didn’t come close to this in intensity, the heavy drag of a thick cock combined with the soft heat of a willing mouth. He wanted more of both, couldn’t figure out which one to move toward, the wet suction or the hot friction. He squirmed futilely, head lolling on Derek Two’s shoulder as he shuddered through another thrust, another sweep of Derek’s mouth. 

“There we go,” Derek Two said approvingly, as if Stiles’ going to pieces had been the goal all along. Derek pulled back enough to circle the head of Stiles’ cock with his tongue, and when he went back down he stopped moving, just kept his mouth relaxed and soft, holding Stiles’ dick in his mouth. 

Stiles reached down and tangled weak fingers in Derek’s damp hair, not trying to get him to move, just trying to cling to reality as Derek Two filled him up again, hard as a piece of iron. On the next thrust, Derek Two’s hand joined Stiles’, tangling in Derek’s hair.

“Look at him, he loves it,” Derek Two said in Stiles’ ear. Derek Two rubbed his hand down over Derek’s head to cup the back of his neck and hold him gently in place, using his hips to push Stiles’ dick deeper into Derek’s mouth, keeping him there for a moment before he eased back and Derek could take a breath. 

“Don’t stop,” Stiles choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as Derek Two rocked into him again, slowly nudging the head of Stiles’ dick into the back of Derek’s throat again.

“I won’t,” Derek Two said, nuzzling Stiles’ ear. “I want to see both of you come. I’ve been listening to you guys fuck for months, I know what it sounds like. Now I want to see it.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Stiles whined, imagining Derek Two in his room, listening to them have sex, maybe jerking off to what he was hearing, or to what he was picturing in his mind while he listened. 

Derek Two laughed, low and dirty, and it sent goosebumps down Stiles’ arms. “I know you thought about it, too,” he said, the sound of a smile riding his voice, and Stiles could only nod frantically while the heat of Derek’s mouth tightened around him for a second before relaxing again. Derek was listening. Derek was _agreeing._

“I knew you’d come around eventually,” Stiles said to Derek, laughing a little. That much animosity had to have a boner behind it somewhere. 

Derek gave an affirmative little hum, blinking up at Stiles with bright eyes as Derek Two let go of his neck. Derek pulled back then, mouth red and used-looking, and slithered back up the bed, biting at Stiles’ belly, his nipples, his collarbone. By the time he got to Stiles’ neck he was gripping Stiles cock, rubbing his thumb in a maddening circle on the underside of the head. Stiles tipped his head back and clutched weakly at the arm around his middle and let himself drift in the pleasure of what they were doing to him.

Derek Two never stopped moving and never stopped talking. Stiles was unaccustomed to that much chatter in bed, but instead of being distracting it seemed to flow as easily as the movement of their bodies, slowly winding Stiles’ insides tighter and tighter, until he was desperate to come. He couldn’t, though, because Derek had circled his fingers around Stiles’ balls and he was tugging on them just enough to keep his orgasm tantalizingly out of reach. Stiles hissed and humped awkwardly backward onto Derek Two’s dick, but that only made his balls ache more. 

Derek Two’s next thrust was hard, grinding Stiles against Derek’s body. It got slow and dirty then, Derek Two screwing deep into Stiles’ ass, Derek sucking on the tendon in Stiles’ neck, everyone panting. Stiles could feel the Dereks everywhere, scratchy body hair and sweaty skin catching as they clung to each other, hitching and rubbing; two hearts thudding against his, one from each side.

“I’m going to come. You ready?” Derek Two asked, and Stiles nodded frantically, chin bumping against the top of Derek’s head before he lifted it to nip at Stiles’ open mouth.

Derek Two’s arm reached over Stiles’ shoulder and grabbed Derek’s face, yanking him into a kiss as Derek Two suddenly sped up, fucking fast into Stiles a few times before he went still, coming with a moan that turned into a muffled little laugh at the end. He tucked his face into the back of Stiles’ neck, breathing damp air all over it, as the last of the spasms twitched through him. 

Stiles, trembling on the edge of a long-awaited orgasm, tried to push into Derek’s hand, but Derek let go just as Derek Two pulled out, and Stiles whined pitifully, abandoned in his time of need. He felt dangerously close to throwing an actual tantrum. Released from the kiss, Derek got a hand under Stiles’ chin and mashed their mouths together in a frantic kiss that Stiles barely responded to before Derek flipped Stiles over onto his stomach again and got between his knees, hauling his hips up. Stiles’ ass was literally dripping, he could feel it running out of him, hot and wet.

“Jesus, look at you,” Derek said in a throaty voice. Stiles shivered as Derek dragged two fingers up the back of Stiles’ balls, catching it and pushing it back in. The next thing Stiles felt was Derek’s cock, sliding into him with no resistance. 

This time it was fast and hard, what Stiles was used to, and he had to brace his hands on the headboard to keep from cracking his head open on it. Derek Two, grinning, knelt next to Stiles and reached under to stroke his dick. His other hand slid down Stiles’ back to tease at Stiles’ rim as Derek fucked him, and Stiles keened, overloaded with sensation. His ass was so sensitive now, every thrust sparking little shivers through him, and Derek Two’s fingers only made it more intense, almost too intense. Stiles’ arms started to shake, and he dropped down to his elbows.

“Feels good, right?” Derek Two said, moving his fingers in a slow sweep across the top that was completely at odds with Derek’s frantic pounding, and Stiles had no idea how Derek Two’s hand wasn’t getting crushed but he never wanted him to stop. “You ready to come?”

“Fuck yes,” Stiles hissed, arching his back, jolting with Derek’s every thrust.

“We’re gonnna make you come so hard, Stiles.” Derek Two kept touching him with one hand, fingers moving in that maddening glide, while he used the other to guide Stiles’ hand to his own dick. Stiles took hold of himself clumsily, too far gone by now to find a good stroke. He couldn’t decide between matching up with Derek’s dick or Derek Two’s fingers, but he wasn’t going to need much. 

He didn’t need hardly any, really, when he felt one of Derek Two’s fingers curl down to slip into him alongside Derek’s cock, an electrifying, intense stretch that made Stiles cry out, high-pitched and startled. Derek grunted like he’d been punched in the gut, and his hips stuttered to a halt as his hands tightened on Stiles’ hips.

Derek Two said, low in Stiles’ ear, “You think you could take both of us at the same time?” A second finger eased in next to the first one, and Stiles choked off a whine at the burn of it before his whole body seized up and he came, clawing at the sheets. Behind him, Derek made a strangled sound and fucked into Stiles once, shocking a gasp out of him, before he came with a groan, pulsing into Stiles’ ass.

All the strength went out of Stiles’ limbs and he would have crumpled into a heap on the bed if Derek Two hadn’t caught him with an arm under his middle. He slowly eased his fingers out, leaving Stiles’ ass a little achy, twitching around Derek’s softening cock, but it still felt amazing. 

“Oh yeah,” Derek Two said, nipping Stiles’ shoulder affectionately, “This is gonna be _awesome._ ”

Derek hummed in agreement, still grinding lazily against Stiles’ butt. He always liked to take his time pulling out. Stiles flapped a hand, let it fall back on the bed. It was gonna be awesome, all right, and they were gonna need way more lube, and a long nap.

~*~

Derek's bed was a queen size, which apparently did not qualify as a one-Stiles-and-two-Dereks size when it came to sleeping, and once they were all fucked out there was a little bit more snarling and grumbling until Stiles crawled between them and told them both to shut up. This was not an afterglow to be missed. Apparently Stiles was insanely compatible in bed with _all_ Dereks.

Derek turned out to be the more cuddly of the two, mashing himself against Stiles like he usually did after sex, while Derek Two was content to sprawl out in all his naked glory with nothing more than a possessive hand on Stiles' thigh. And this was a part Stiles hadn't ahead to, but was almost as good as the sex—he could look his fill at one Derek while still getting all his warm little spoon snuggles from the other Derek _at the same time._

What a waste they hadn't been doing this all along. They were gonna have to work overtime on making up for that. 

He drifted off to sleep looking forward to scouring Xtube for threesome ideas, and woke up a short time later and turned over in Derek's arms, looking for some kisses. Derek still looked relaxed and sleepy, Stiles thought, which immediately jinxed everything, because at that moment Derek's eyes flew open and he shoved Stiles away as he sat up, clutching the sheets in his fists. His face was contorted in a grimace, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Stiles asked, trying to keep his voice calm, even though he felt anything but. "Derek, are you o—"

"I don’t know," Derek choked out. His eyes flashed, which made Stiles' blood run cold. Derek had such good control—the last time he'd been unable to control his eyes, he’d been _dying._

A pained gasp behind him made Stiles look over at Derek Two, who was just waking up, and appeared to be having the same problem, whatever it was.

Derek flung the sheet aside and stumbled to his feet, growling deep in his chest, and on the other side of the bed Derek Two did the same. They stared at each other over Stiles’ head, eyes wide and frantic, while Stiles nervously pulled his knees under him. He felt like he should be doing something to help, but he had no idea what. He wasn’t even sure what the problem was.

"Hey," he said anxiously. "Someone tell me what's happen—" 

"I feel like—" Derek interrupted, voice hoarse, before he sucked in a harsh breath.

"Like I need to shift," Derek Two said, and then he did. They _both_ did--fangs and pointy ears and claws and all. Whatever it was they'd broken with the spell, it was finally fixed—and then some, Stiles realized, because they _kept going_. Right past beta form and into alpha form, the big, hulking, not quite human and not quite wolf nightmare fodder form that Derek had tried so hard to obtain and had never even come close. 

_Holy crap._ They'd been hoping to get the beta shift back, and somehow they'd managed to go beyond that. Stiles was about to let out a joyous whoop when he realized _they weren't done._ They were still changing, muscles rippling, snarling as their features contorted again.

Stiles knelt on the bed and stared, head swiveling from one to the other and back again as they fell forward onto all fours. Even more hair sprouted everywhere— _fur_ , his brain supplied. Their jaws lengthened into actual muzzles, hands and feet transformed into paws, and a few seconds later Stiles was looking at two enormous black wolves.

"Holy. Shit," Stiles breathed. "You did it. You both did it." His voice cracked embarrassingly and he didn't even care. This was _huge._

This was something Derek had never even talked about, aside from mentioning, a little wistfully, that his mother had been able to do it. Stiles knew it was rare, not all werewolves could do it, and he'd understood without being told that not being able to take alpha form took the wolf form completely off the table for Derek. 

But not anymore. 

Derek and Derek Two, meanwhile—they were so fluffy!—had met at the foot of the bed and were celebrating, barking joyfully and spinning in circles. There were tails and paws and wet black noses everywhere. It was…kind of adorable.

Until they rocked up against the dresser and Derek's piggy bank—a gift from Stiles when he'd been deep in his Three Little Pigs joke phase—came precariously close to falling off the edge. They were wrestling on the floor now, and all Stiles could catch was a bunch of playful yips and growls, and the occasional flash of fur. 

"Okay, as much as I enjoy watching you guys re-enact the Puppy Bowl, can you not break stuff?" Stiles said. He'd had enough of that tonight to last a lifetime.

The commotion stopped and a shaggy head popped up at the foot of the bed, followed quickly by another. If Stiles had thought they were hard to tell apart before, now it was impossible. They were completely identical.

The wolf on the right was panting, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and almost looked like he was smiling, so Stiles decided that was probably Derek Two. The other wolf, presumably Derek, had put his front paws up on the bed and was eyeing Stiles with a proud glint in his glowing red eyes.

"We are going to _kick the alpha pack's ass_ ," Stiles said gleefully. Forget double the power—this was easily quadruple when you factored in the wolf shift for two Dereks. It had taken a lot of time and a lot of effort—and some pretty great orgasms—but the spell was now more successful than they’d ever dreamed. “They are so fucked and they don’t even know it.”

Derek Two yipped in agreement, and then they both leapt onto the bed, bowling Stiles over as they pounced on him and licked his face with their hot, rough tongues. “Ugh, gross, stop!” Stiles said, but all that did was spur them on. He heard something snap underneath his butt, probably some kind of vital support structure in the bedframe, but he was too busy being slurped half to death to do anything about it.

~*~

When Stiles finally got out of bed and limped out to the kitchen for coffee the next day, it was nearly noon, and he felt slightly battered but also sort of…pampered.

Derek Two definitely fucked different than Derek--he was more playful and lighthearted about it, whereas in Stiles’ experience being fucked by Derek was a little like going to boot camp: you'd come out a lot better for it on the other end, but you needed a lot of endurance and Gatorade. The combination of the two was enough to wear a guy out, but happily.

Stiles was, hilariously, shocked by the state of the living room, having completely forgotten about the brawl in all the excitement and orgasms that came after. Nothing was in one piece. Every bit of furniture was torn or broken, the TV tipped over, and Stiles couldn't even bear to look at the PlayStation. There was still broken glass everywhere, mixed in with dried out pieces of cucumber, so he wasn't going anywhere near it. He hadn't made the mess, and he wasn't going to clean it up. 

He put some bread in the toaster, made Keurig cups for himself and Derek Two, and then started the old crappy coffee pot up for Derek. That was when he heard his phone ding, somewhere in the rubble, and realized the flaw in his plan of avoidance. 

After walking gingerly around the perimeter of the mess until he spied his sweatshirt half under the smashed coffee table, he got the Swiffer mop—Derek Two owned at least one of everything in the entire Swiffer line--out of the closet and managed to use the handle to snag his sweatshirt and drag it over, thus sparing his bare feet. 

There were two voicemails and an email from Deaton on his new phone. Stiles read the email while he ate his toast and jam, and waited for Derek's stupid outdated coffee to brew. 

_Stiles,_

_I've been doing some more research on that passage you sent me, and I've found a reference to it in another book. I suspect there was a mistranslation, and the operative word isn't "hold" at all. I think it's actually "embrace."_

_I don't believe it's meant in literal terms. Based on what you've told me, I agree with your theory that Derek Two is likely a part of Derek given corporeal form, and Derek's immediate and total rejection of Derek Two made the spell go haywire. He needs to embrace (ie accept) that side of himself, as soon as possible. That should fix the problem._

Stiles leaned to look through the open bedroom door at Derek and Derek Two, who were back in human form, tangled together on the bed, and naked as they day they were born.

 _Oh, he's embraced it, all right_ , Stiles wrote back, smirking to himself. _P.S. It worked._

~*~

Two days later, Derek's pack and Argent's hunters held a summit in a party room at the Chuck E. Cheese's two towns over.

"Really?" Boyd asked, squinting up at the sign as the pack gathered in the parking lot. "We're doing this here?" The air was heavy and humid with pizza fumes.

"It makes perfect sense!" Stiles insisted. "No one's gonna try to kill anyone else with all these kids around." He was a little sensitive to criticism of the plan, because it was his plan.

"It's a great idea," Scott said loyally, slinging his arm around Stiles' neck. He and Stiles had worked tirelessly for the last day and a half on this meeting. Maybe they'd been a little punchy when they got to this part of the decision making process, but it still made perfect sense. Stiles would go to his grave insisting this was so.

"I haven't been to one of these since I was a kid," Emilio said. He jerked a thumb at Enrique. "He was scared of the giant mouse."

"I was three!" Enrique protested, but he looked a little nervous when they walked inside the place. 

Okay. So one thing Stiles hadn't taken into consideration was the fact that a place like this would be complete and total sensory overload for werewolves. He knew that part of Derek's bootcamp involved working on fine-turning their senses, and learning how to dial them down for their own comfort and sanity, but right now even the born wolves were looking a little strained as they tried their best to block out the loud music, the flashing lights, and the sugar-fueled screams of a hundred over-stimulated children.

Stiles had a sudden, visceral flashback to being six years old, bloated with soda, shrieking at the top of his lungs in the ball pit. That had been the one and only time his parents had brought him here. He completely understood why.

Another thing Stiles hadn't considered was that it might look a _little_ odd that they didn't have a single kid with them, but an apathetic high-schooler in a stained uniform didn't even give them a second glance before leading them to a smaller room in the back. It was thankfully much quieter, but harbored a creepy, silent animatronic band that promised its own brand of special horror later.

"Yuck, there's pizza grease on everything," Lydia said, arranging a bunch of napkins on the seat of her chair before she sat down. Jackson looked around him with disdain as he settled next to her, but that was his usual facial expression so it meant nothing.

The Dereks sat side by side at the head of the table. Inseparable now, it seemed, which Stiles found slightly hilarious.

Argent's people entered the room looking wary but confident. There were a few double-takes when they spotted Derek Two, despite the fact that they'd been briefed on the situation, but Stiles could sympathize--it had taken him about a week to get over the weirdness of seeing two Dereks wandering around, and one of his favorite hobbies was just watching Derek exist. It was probably even more jarring for people who didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time contemplating the pattern of Derek’s arm hair and other similarly worthy topics.

The one person who didn't seem to even notice Derek Two was Allison. She and Scott had eyes only for each other, sharing small smiles as she took a seat across the table from him. Stiles knew just by looking at them for three seconds that they were already back together, at least unofficially. Oh, boy.

The meeting went off without a hitch. Well, only a slight hitch, when Derek Two laid eyes on one of the hunters at the end of the table and announced she was the one who had shot him while he was jogging in the park.

"Serena?" Argent asked, lifting an eyebrow at her. She was young, probably just out of high school, with pretty blonde hair and bright blue fingernails. "This is the first I'm hearing about this."

"It's a good thing she missed," Derek Two huffed.

"I didn't miss," Serena said, leaning back in her chair. "How's your butt, by the way?"

"It was my _leg_ ," Derek Two insisted stubbornly, just as he had the entire time Boyd had been pulling an arrow out of what was definitely his butt. "And I wasn't even doing anything! I was _jogging_ ," he said indignantly.

"That's why you got a warning shot," Serena said. She looked so smug even Stiles was impressed, and he'd known Jackson Whittemore for almost fifteen years.

As if on cue, Jackson spoke up. "You were wearing those hideous neon shorts. It was a mercy killing," he said to Derek Two, who looked even more pained than he had with actual arrow sticking out of his butt.

"I think we should get started!" Stiles interjected, while Derek Two glared and Serena smirked and Chris Argent looked like he didn't know what was wrong with kids today.

Behind him, Stiles heard the ominous click and whir of the animatronic band coming to life. He hoped it wasn't an omen.

"Here's what we bring to the table," Allison said, and then, while Pasqually sang "You Spin Me Round," she laid out a list of their resources, which mostly sounded like some kind of weapons dealer convention. 

Scott spoke for Derek's pack, summarizing the ongoing problem with the alpha pack, and outlining their idea for how to stop them. Chris Argent looked a little surprised—and a little impressed--to learn they'd already formed an alliance with the Sweet Peas. Derek Two noticed, and jumped in to describe how they'd worked together to get rid of the elves, and that seemed to mollify some of the more reluctant people on the hunter side. Derek's pack was capable of teamwork, and holding up their end of a deal, and was taking the protection of Beacon Hills very seriously. All good selling points.

It only took a few minutes after that to reach a deal, and set up another meeting, this one to hammer out a plan of attack. The Sweet Peas had already agreed to the use of their barn as a temporary headquarters, the closest thing there was to a secluded but neutral meeting place. 

"They'll have pie and kombucha," Isaac said. He was the unofficial liaison between Derek’s pack and the Sweet Peas. Jackson never stopped making cougar jokes.

"What the hell is kombucha?" Stiles heard one of the hunters ask, but no one bothered to answer.

The Argent people left first, Chris hanging back while a noticeably reluctant Allison said goodbye to Scott. Everyone else, even Enrique, stuck it out for a while and ate crappy pizza and played arcade games. Stiles was a long-time skeeball wizard, and he won enough prize tickets to get a purple plastic crown for Derek, who gave him a vicious side-eye but left it on his head, even when Erica took a picture and posted it to her Instagram. 

Derek's pack walked out of the Chuck E. Cheese's in high spirits, and with good reason. The two Dereks were getting along, there was a tentative truce with the hunters, and it looked like they might finally get rid of the alpha pack for good this year. 

Then Stiles went home and got double-dicked by his sexy werewolf boyfriends.

What a time to be alive.

~*~

Every year when they came to town, the alpha pack stayed in a rental somewhere near the Preserve. This year they were living in the lone McMansion standing in an unfinished suburban development that had gone into legal limbo when the recession hit. The yard backed right up to the border of the Preserve, the closest they'd dared to come yet. Derek had been surprisingly sanguine about it, maybe because he was distracted by all the other problems in his life, maybe because he didn't live near the Preserve himself anymore.

The location and seclusion of the alpha house were definitely plusses for the Beacon Hills side, because it meant there was no one around to call the cops when Argent's hunters lobbed canisters of tear gas through the windows. Deucalion was definitely not getting his deposit back.

It took barely a minute for the alphas to come boiling out of the back of the house, where Argent's people were waiting for them, flanking their escape route to keep them moving in the right direction: into the Preserve. Right into the trap that had been built just for them.

What had once been a nice little clearing in the woods was now ringed almost all the way around by a huge wall of vegetation reaching to the tops of the trees surrounding it. It was rock solid, several feet thick, and sprouted right from the ground in an impenetrable weave of sapling trees and sturdy vines and tendrils of wolfsbane. The Sweet Peas had really outdone themselves.

The alpha pack barreled right into the clearing and then came up short when they realized they couldn't go through. Shouting warnings at each other, they wheeled around, but it was too late, the ring was closing, the opening narrowing down until it was barely six feet wide. Still too much for Stiles to defend on his own, but he wasn't worried. He walked up to it and stopped just before stepping into the circle itself.

The alphas were now grouped together in the middle of the circle, Deucalion standing front and center. He tilted his head and flared his eyes at Stiles. The other alphas were shuffling their feet restlessly, breathing heavy and snarling, wound up from their run through the woods, but Deucalion looked like he'd just stepped out of a limo.

"Interesting," he said. "He sent the human. Are you here to do a magic trick for us?" He was just as calm and smirking as always, and Stiles couldn't wait to see him get his ass handed to him on a platter.

"I already did one. Wanna see it?" Stiles said, lifting his hands above his head a little dramatically and then bringing them down in an arc on either side. The glamour hiding Derek's pack immediately blipped out of existence with a tiny popping noise, revealing a half dozen shifted werewolves inside the circle with the alphas, flanking the wall. One of them—Boyd, maybe—growled.

Most of the alphas darted quick glances at each other, but they didn't seem too worried yet. Deucalion himself lifted an eyebrow and tapped his cane idly against the dirt like he was bored.

"We're all very impressed," Kali said, not sounding impressed at all. Ennis looked like he couldn’t wait to start killing people, but what else was new.

"How about now?" Chris Argent said, coming out of the trees to stand next to Stiles. His hunters followed, some filing past to take up spots along the wall with the werewolves until the alphas were completing surrounded. The rest of the hunters gathered in a loose group behind Stiles and Argent, weapons ready.

Kali looked like she was holding back a laugh. "Really? That's your big move?"

"It will take more than a few wolfsbane bullets and some baristas masquerading as werewolves to stop us," Deucalion said. “You should know that by now, Stiles.”

"Hey now, only two of us are baristas," Erica pointed out. She and Enrique worked at the same coffee shop.

"I’m a barista, too," one of the hunters volunteered. Chris silenced him with a dirty look.

"But wait, there's more!" Stiles said, like he was narrating an infomercial. Someone snorted a laugh. Probably Scott—he appreciated Stiles' sense of humor more than anyone.

There was a brief pause where no one said anything or moved, and it went on until it started to get a little awkward. 

Stiles looked over his shoulder, eyes straining to make sense of what was just a bunch of darker shapes in the dark woods. "That's your cue!" he hissed.

There was some rustling in the trees followed by murmured conversation, and then the hunters slowly parted to make way for the hedgewitches to take their place directly behind Stiles and Chris. The frizzy-haired one was so terrified she was quaking in her mom jeans, and Stiles wondered for a second if she was going to be able to help at all. Isaac, their designated protection detail and handler for the evening, was looming behind them, eyes glowing as he nudged them forward a little more. The frizzy-haired one needed an extra nudge.

Deucalion nodded at the witches like a king greeting his subjects. That guy was a real piece of work. "I've had several of your pies," he said in that genial-yet-creepy tone he used so often. "They're delicious." 

"Thank you," one of the non-frizzy hedgewitches said politely, and then looked abashed when the other two elbowed her.

"Those pies are good. I say we let them live," Ennis chimed in. “They can’t be that dangerous.”

"Maybe they're gonna run us over with their mini-van," one of the twins said snottily. Ethan, maybe? The shorter non-frizzy witch made a gesture, and a vine of wolfsbane snapped away from the wall, quick as a snake, and flicked across the side of his face like a whip. "Ow! Motherfucker!" he yelled, slapping his hand over his cheek, hissing at the pain.

"Parlor tricks," Deucalion sighed dramatically, like this was all so tedious. "I thought perhaps this year you actually had managed something _interesting_ , but I was mistaken," he said. 

"Huh. Tough crowd," Stiles said. "I'll have to think of something better." He tapped his finger on his chin, pretending to contemplate, while several of Deucalion's pack rolled their eyes. "Oh! I know! Abracadabra!" He waved a hand with a flourish, and both Dereks, in wolf form, seemed to materialize right out of the darkness. That wasn’t even a magic trick—they were just that cool. They padded their way to the circle’s opening, weaving between Stiles and Chris to stand in front of them. 

_Now_ they had the alpha pack's attention.

The Dereks stood shoulder to shoulder, heads held high, eyes glowing red, while the alpha pack collectively shit their pants in fear. There was nothing more powerful than a werewolf in full wolf form--they were nearly impossible to kill. Even Deucalion was no match for even one Derek in wolf shift, and they had _two._

"What the hell is this?" Ennis growled. 

"Derek's started his own alpha pack," Stiles said. "But the price of admission is a little more doable. I imagine it'll grow pretty quickly."

"He's bluffing," Ethan-or-Aiden said. The one without the wolfsbane mark on his face. "It's a magic trick. It's just an illusion."

"You wanna find out?" Stiles asked. He was practically bouncing on his toes with anticipation.

"We can take them," Kali said to Deucalion, in a fit of either misplaced optimism or outright delusion.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked her, letting a little skepticism slip into his voice. "We can make a deal. If you leave now and never come back, you get to live. If you stay, you die."

"I'd take the deal," Chris Argent said helpfully, cradling his gun in his arms like a precious baby. 

"No one asked you, hunter," Deucalion said. He said the word "hunter" like it was a slur. His eyes flared and he looked at the Dereks. "You'll regret this," he said, voice rising. "Never trust an Argent!" He was already winding up to get really theatrical about it, Stiles could tell. Any second now he was gonna bust out his " _I am the demon wolf!_ " line, which got more ridiculous every year.

"Are we gonna stand here all night and trade quips or are we gonna fight?" Serena asked.

"I say we fight," Isaac said, grinning, and the Dereks snarled in unison and leapt at Deucalion.

~*~

Scott and Stiles got stuck burning the bodies, as usual, but this time Allison and Chris helped. The Dereks hung around in the background in wolf form, fire glinting off their eyes, keeping watch when they weren’t gnawing on each other’s muzzles and play-fighting.

They were out of firecrackers and Stiles had forgotten to buy more, so they lit one of Allison's arrows and she shot it into the fire pit. That looked pretty cool, Stiles had to admit, even if you didn't get the same satisfaction that came from blowing stuff up. If he played his cards right, maybe Stiles could hand his share of the burning duty over to Allison—she and Scott would probably welcome the excuse to spend time together in front of a nice romantic fire.

Chris Argent took off once the flames started to die down, leaving Allison to squeeze into the Jeep with Stiles, Scott, and the two Dereks. It was past midnight when they finally got back to the Dereks' house but everyone else was still there, scrubbing blood out of their clothes and cleaning their claws, so they heated up a bunch of frozen pizzas and started a movie. The TV, which they hadn't had time to replace, had a big diagonal crack in one corner, but still worked fine. 

No one commented on Allison's presence, or even looked askance at her. Scott was clearly overjoyed to have her there, and neither of the Dereks seemed to mind that she was in their house. Two weeks ago, Stiles would never have imagined such a scene possible, but a lot of impossible things had happened recently. Stiles had the two identical sets of teeth marks on his butt to prove it.

Speaking of which, neither Derek bothered to shift back to human form when they got home. 

“Oh, stop gloating,” Stiles said as he settled on the couch with his slice of pepperoni, but he didn’t really mean it. The full wolf form was such an accomplishment that he was gloating a little over it, too. The looks on the alphas’ faces had been _priceless._

“No one in our old pack could do that,” Emilio said, which only made the Dereks preen more. 

The conversation hovered around the topic of the full wolf shift for a few minutes, but instead of wallowing in it, the Dereks flopped down in a heap in front of the couch, pawing and licking at each other like puppies, until finally Stiles got tired of the noise and the jostling and told them to knock it off. One of them nipped Stiles on the toe, but it was probably just on principle, because after that they immediately curled up in a big fluffy ball of wolf and fell asleep.

No one seemed inclined to leave, even after the pizza was gone and someone had switched the television to a _Two and a Half Men_ rerun, but eventually Stiles had had enough pack bonding. He got up, yawning, and said, "I’m hitting the sack." 

When he headed toward the bedroom, both Dereks immediately got up and padded after him. Stiles very purposely did not make eye contact with anyone else as he closed the bedroom door. _That_ at least they’d found the time to replace, thank God.

Stiles stripped naked on his way to the bathroom, not caring where the clothes fell. Derek's bedroom had a _great_ attached bathroom, with a big glass shower with two shower heads. By the time Stiles got the water adjusted to the temperature he liked, both Dereks were standing behind him, back to human, just as naked as he was.

The shower, while big, wasn't quite big enough for three grown men, but that just meant Stiles, sandwiched as he was between Derek and Derek Two, didn't have to even hold himself up, or wash his hair, or jerk himself off. Pretty sweet deal.

After everyone got to have an orgasm, they collapsed on the bed, for what Stiles thought was going to be a nice solid night’s sleep, but the Dereks had other ideas. 

Stiles was sprawled naked on the bed with his arm draped over his eyes when someone’s mouth touched his dick, licking at it softly. He twitched, and felt his bent knee bump against damp hair, but it seemed like too much work to check which Derek it was—and did it really matter? The licking started out soothing and then turned teasing and then turned into sucking and _then_ turned into deep-throating and eventually Stiles was hard again and not sleepy at all.

He finally lifted his arm and saw it was Derek Two—easy to tell now that he’d gone back to shaving. Derek was next to Stiles on the bed, head propped on his hand, watching with hooded eyes. Derek Two was absently stroking Derek's dick with one hand, like he didn't even realize he was doing it, the way you pet a cat without really being aware of it, just because it’s there. 

Derek Two slowly dragged his mouth off Stiles’ cock and let it fall against his belly with a wet slap. “So what’s the plan for tonight?” he asked, resting his chin on Stiles' hip bone. He didn’t let go of Derek’s dick.

“Someone else can choose,” Stiles said, not wanting to be greedy. They’d already done a lot of stuff he’d wanted to try.

Derek Two raised an eyebrow at Derek, who said, “Don’t look at me. Stiles is the one with the spreadsheet.”

“I didn’t make a spreadsheet!” Stiles protested. It was just a list. Not even bulleted. “And just for that I’m not telling either of you what’s on it. You’ll just have to come up with something yourselves.”

“All right, roleplay it is,” Derek Two said decisively. “I get to be Gandalf.”

“Ugh, fine!” Stiles huffed, caving immediately under the awful images _that_ invoked. “I want to watch you fuck Derek.” They hadn’t done that yet. So far Stiles had been taking all the dicks, and enjoying himself immensely doing so, but he was dying to see the Dereks together. 

Derek managed to maintain a poker face, but his dick didn't--it literally jumped at the chance, twitching in Derek Two's hand. Derek Two's eyebrows snapped upwards.

"You like to bottom?" Derek Two asked Derek, eyes lighting up. He gave Derek’s dick a gentle rub, like he was soothing it.

"Yes," Derek said, looking a little defensive, even with the dick petting going on. He glanced at Stiles. "I like to make him do all the work."

"Hey!" Stiles said, irritated. He flicked Derek's ear. "Don't pull that shit on me. It's okay to like it."

Derek's shoulders drooped and he gave Stiles a guilty look, like a dog caught stealing food off the kitchen counter. "Sorry." He looked back at Derek Two. "I like it," he said, like he was daring him to make something of it.

"Hey, that's cool,” Derek Two said agreeably. “I'll totally fuck you." Derek's dick jumped in his hand again. “You can blow Stiles at the same time.”

Derek made a choked sound and his hips jerked, pushing his cock through Derek Two’s fist.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna cry," Stiles said, overcome. This was the happiest day of his life.

Derek Two grinned and licked a big sloppy stripe across Stiles’ balls as he gave Derek’s dick another stroke. So clearly everyone was on board with this plan. 

Derek Two helped Stiles get Derek ready, both of them sliding slicked fingers into him, taking turns tonguing his cock, kissing his mouth, then kissing each other. Derek panted and whined through the whole thing, stomach heaving with harsh breaths until he finally spilled into Derek Two's mouth, his body clamping down hard around their fingers as they slowly curled deep inside, teasing the last shudders out of him. He was still hard when Derek Two urged him up onto his hands and knees and shuffled into position behind him. 

“Wait, wait, I wanna see,” Stiles said, and both Dereks obliged by tilting Derek’s hips enough that Stiles, kneeling in front of Derek’s face, could see Derek Two push into Derek’s ass. “Oh my God,” Stiles said, feeling his spine turn to water as Derek Two’s dick slowly disappeared into Derek’s body, inch by beautiful inch.

When Derek Two’s hips met Derek’s ass, they sighed in unison, and then Derek Two and Stiles both laughed at that. Derek didn’t make a sound, and when Stiles looked down he recognized the look on Derek’s face, the way his brow was furrowed and his lip was sucked into his mouth. Stiles had seen that look a hundred times when it was his own dick making it happen.

But this time Stiles was kneeling in front of him instead, and took himself in an unsteady grip and slowly fed his cock into Derek’s mouth, easing the head past his teeth to rest on his tongue and then just holding it there, let him suck on it. Derek’s eyes fluttered closed and he swayed forward a little bit at Derek Two’s first real thrust, and the rest of Stiles’ dick slipped into his mouth. 

Everyone froze for a second, Stiles clutching at Derek’s hair, Derek Two clutching Derek’s hips. Derek looked—God, Derek looked amazing, taking them both like this, eyes barely open, the muscles in his back jumping as he squirmed on Derek Two’s hard cock. His breath was already coming fast through his nose, tickling the hair on Stiles’ belly.

Then Derek made an annoyed sound that both Stiles and Derek Two interpreted as _Move_ and things really got started. 

Derek liked to have his face fucked slow and deep, and his ass fucked fast and hard, and they were happy to give him both. Stiles held Derek’s head in his hands and rolled his hips, dragging his dick across Derek’s tongue as slowly as he could bear to do it, all the while giving Derek Two short, breathless orders to fuck Derek faster, to really give it to him. Derek made increasingly desperate muffled noises as they worked their dicks in and out of him, fists clutching the blanket.

“You look really good like this,” Stiles said to Derek. The veins in his arms were standing out, his mouth a ripe red O around Stiles’ cock, back arched to practically present his ass to Derek Two for fucking. No one took a dick like Derek. No one took _two_ dicks like Derek.

“Yeah, he does,” Derek Two agreed, humming appreciatively as he pumped in and out. Stiles tore his eyes away from Derek long enough to look up at Derek Two, whose chest was flushed red just like Derek’s always got when they were fucking, the flat muscles in his stomach flexing as his hips moved. His fingers were slotted in the cut of Derek’s hips, just like Derek did when he fucked Stiles.

“Oh my God,” Stiles said weakly, hips stuttering. Watching Derek fuck was second only to watching Derek get fucked—seeing both at the same time was like a lightning bolt straight to his dick.

“Coming,” Stiles managed to grit out just before he shoved forward one more time and then held Derek’s face against his stomach, groaning at the feel of Derek swallowing tightly around him. Stiles’ second orgasms were usually longer and stronger, and this one was like a fist squeezing tight in his belly and then releasing slowly, a series of hard pulses into Derek’s throat. Derek Two went still, watching, encouraging Derek to swallow in a rough voice as his hands slid up Derek’s back and then down and around to close around his hips again.

Derek Two started moving again, and Derek moaned around Stiles’ cock, dragging one final spasm out of him. Stiles, feeling like he’d been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four, pulled out of Derek’s mouth slowly, cradling his jaw in his hands as he dragged his dick down Derek’s lower lip. 

Stiles slumped back to sit on his heels, hands still cupping Derek’s face, and leaned down to kiss his swollen mouth. Derek’s chin was wet and his eyes were squeezed shut, but he kissed back. Stiles felt him shift his weight to one arm so he could jerk himself off with the other. Derek Two was really giving it to Derek now, grinning as his hips pumped faster and faster.

“I’m close,” Derek Two warned, sounding a little out of breath but happy. Even moments away from coming he was still chipper and full of smiles, face a picture of pure joy, while Derek usually looked more and more pissed off the closer he got to having an orgasm. Stiles was used to it.

Case in point: Derek’s eyebrows were scrunched down, his jaw clenched as his breath hissed through his bared teeth. “So is he,” Stiles told Derek Two, petting Derek’s face. Derek turned to nuzzle into Stiles’ hand, mouth falling open as he panted harshly against Stiles’ palm. 

Derek Two snapped his hips forward again, telling Derek that yeah, that was what he liked, that was what he needed. Stiles slipped two fingers into Derek’s mouth for him to suck and that was how Derek came, hunching his back to get Derek Two’s dick where he wanted it, sucking sloppily on Stiles’ fingers as he spilled into the sheets, whining like he was dying.

Derek Two rode him right down onto the bed, hips still humping, and pulled out to come all over his back and ass.

“Holy shit,” Stiles said shakily, unable to pry his eyes away from the sight of Derek Two straddling Derek’s thighs while his hand teased the last of few drops out. Some of it was pooling in the little hollow above Derek’s butt, trails of it dripping down his side onto the sheets. 

“No kidding. I think my brain just came out of my dick,” Derek Two panted as he pitched over to collapse on the bed. Derek grunted in agreement and without lifting his face out of the blankets slapped a hand around, trying to find Stiles. Stiles took pity on him and put his hand in Derek’s. 

Derek used it to tug him down, and Derek Two hitched over to make room for Stiles between them. Rumbling happily, Derek moved enough to bury his face in Stiles’ neck, which usually meant he wasn’t getting up anytime soon. They all really needed another shower, Stiles thought. In a minute he’d get everyone up. In a minute...

Stiles fell asleep with four strong arms around him, holding him tight.

~*~

Stiles woke up with two strong arms around him, holding him tight.

~*~

"He's just gone?" Isaac asked, looking devastated by Derek Two's sudden departure. "He just disappeared?"

"Yes!" Stiles said for the fifth time. "We knew this was going to happen!"

"No, we didn't," Isaac said. He threw himself onto the couch like a sulky five-year-old.

"I told you!" Stiles insisted.

"No, you _didn't_ ," Isaac said icily.

"Oh. Um. Sorry?" Isaac still looked pissed. "The spell only lasted as long as Derek needed him. And now he doesn't need him so…poof! Gone!" Stiles made explodey hands to illustrate his point. Isaac was not amused.

To be fair, they all missed Derek Two, at least a little. Stiles certainly would have enjoyed a few more days of double Derek action, but he didn't say that to anyone. And he wasn’t so sure Derek Two was actually gone so much as…reintegrated. He was holding off judgment on that until he had more evidence.

A few days after Derek Two disappeared, Derek set to work getting rid of his things. Most of the household stuff they kept, because it was still of use, but the motivational posters came down in a hurry. Derek let the pack members take what they wanted, for the most part, though a few items went to specific people. The guitar was handed off to an excited Scott, and Derek gave the yellow Beetle to Isaac, whose eyes nearly welled with tears over it.

Stiles helped sort through the clothes, and Derek kept a lot more of them than Stiles would have expected, mostly the T-shirts. The flip-flops, though, went right into the donation pile, along with the brightly colored shorts. A lot of Derek Two’s books went into a box, too, along with a collection of ceramic wolf figurines Stiles hadn't even known about, having never set foot in Derek Two's bedroom before this. Stiles thought Derek looked slightly embarrassed as he collected them off the shelf.

Right before they left for Goodwill, Stiles' Jeep filled to bursting, Derek went into the kitchen and grabbed the crappy old coffee pot.

"God, don't even bother donating that," Stiles said when he saw. "Even they won't want that thing. I'm pretty sure it's a fire hazard." It always smelled like hot wires when it was on.

While Derek was busy putting it in the trash bin in the garage, Stiles snuck one of the wolf figurines—the majestic black howling one—out of the box and positioned it prominently on top of Derek's dresser, right between Derek’s piggy bank and Stiles’ _Despicable Me_ snow globe. 

~*~

Stiles was busy with extra shifts at work the next two days, and when he finally swung by Derek's house again, he found the whole pack sitting in the living room, eating Rice Krispies treats Derek had made for them. He grabbed two gooey squares and squeezed himself into the big recliner with Derek, who grumbled about it, but shifted to make room for him all the same, and kissed the back of Stiles’ head when they finally got settled.

“So what are we doin’?” Stiles asked, a little afraid to hear the answer. He didn’t know if there was some new problem or…

“Wasting our lives in Beacon Hills,” Jackson said around a wad of marshmallow and cereal.

“Just hangin’,” Scott said, snuggling closer to Allison. There was a game of Risk in progress on the coffee table, and some Super Smash Bros on the television, and a few empty Taco Bell bags scattered around. That totally qualified as just hangin’.

Despite Jackson—and pretty much anything Stiles said about his friends could start with the words "despite Jackson"—the mood in the room was nice and mellow. They weren’t facing down any kind of crisis today. They could just _hang._

Derek was nice and mellow right now, too, and had been ever since Derek Two disappeared. Everything about him just seemed softer and more open, and his attitude toward his pack was now tinged with what looked suspiciously like indulgent affection. He was content, and it showed.

Summer was almost over. The new school year was only days away, which for most of them meant leaving Beacon Hills. Last year, Stiles had been a little reluctant to go back to school, assuming that it meant the end of this thing between him and Derek. This year he knew it wasn't the end, but it wasn't any easier to leave. Maybe it was even harder.

After a while everyone else took off, in groups and in pairs, leaving Stiles and Derek alone in the house. Stiles grabbed the last Rice Krispies treat and took the empty pan into the kitchen. Derek came behind him with a bunch of cans and bottles he collected off the new coffee table. Ever since Derek Two's departure it had become glaringly apparent how much tidying up he'd done around the place. Derek was picking up the slack, though a little grudgingly, and his standards of cleanliness weren't quite as high. 

"Wanna come over for dinner with my Dad tonight?" Stiles asked, while Derek was yanking the overflowing trash bag out of the can. They were planning to have Chinese food, which Derek loved.

"Sure," Derek said, without looking up. He didn't even hesitate, which Stiles considered a good sign.

"Good. Great," Stiles said. He took a deep breath and willed himself to say it before he lost his nerve. "I need to tell you something. When Derek Two was at the house, my dad was there.” He hesitated, then went for the rip-off-the-Band-Aid approach and said, “And so were Rachel and Edgar."

"So I already met them," Derek said, finally straightening up and looking at Stiles, a neatly tied Hefty bag dangling from his hand.

"I…guess?" Stiles said slowly, thrown by the use of the word "I." All summer Derek had been so adamant that he and Derek Two were not the same person, so it was strange to hear him change his tune so drastically now. "Yeah, you did," Stiles amended promptly. Never let it be said he wasn't capable of taking the easy way out.

Derek nodded, and something tight and uncomfortable Stiles had been carrying around in his chest for weeks melted away--the guilty secret of that afternoon he’d spent with Derek Two.

It didn't feel so much like betrayal now, now that Derek had accepted his other half. And that really was what Derek Two had been, Stiles was certain of it now—part of Derek, made whole, walking around. 

The change in Derek since he’d accepted that side of himself was unmistakable, and the most obvious evidence yet that Derek really was putting his terrible past behind him. Derek had watched Derek Two care about people, and nurture them, and nothing terrible had happened. No one had died or betrayed him, and it had even made things better. Maybe it felt safe to do it himself now, after seeing Derek Two pull it off.

And there was no use hiding that side of himself now anyway, when everyone had seen it walking and talking for months, hugging everyone who needed it, drinking wine coolers on the patio, and going to poetry slams. His secret was out: he was a big softie with weird hobbies. Stiles was still really into him anyway.

They puttered around the house a little after that, and eventually wound up clearing out the last of the stuff in Derek Two's room, which was mostly clothing Derek wanted to keep, plus the computer and printer, which Derek was going to give to Erica. The last thing they did was strip the bed and take down a few pictures Derek Two had stuck on a bulletin board behind the door. They were mostly little photo booth pics, him and the other pack members, but there were a few he'd obviously snapped with his phone, and then taken the time to print on photo paper. 

One of them was a picture Stiles had taken toward the end, in one of their precious moments of downtime in those final, harried days before their showdown with the alpha pack. It was a shot of both Dereks in full wolf form, lounging together on the grass in the back yard. He handed that one to Derek, who set it carefully atop a stack of socks and underwear and carried it out of the room.

When they were done, Derek Two's bedroom looked like a plain old guest room, no real personal touches in it all. While Derek went over the carpet with Derek Two's Dyson vacuum cleaner, Stiles put clean sheets on the bed, just in case anyone needed to crash here and wanted something more comfortable than the couch. 

"Well, you've got more space at least," Stiles pointed out when Derek shut the vacuum off. He shoved the last pillow into its case and propped it against the headboard, thinking maybe Isaac would want to move in, since hiding his werewolfiness from his aunt and uncle was kind of a pain. 

Derek beat Stiles to the punch, though. "Maybe you could move in for real now," he said, coming up behind Stiles and settling his hands on his hips. 

Stiles straightened up but didn't turn around, feeling Derek's hands warm on him through his clothes, holding on, but not too tightly.

 _For real_ , Derek'd said, and the words tumbled around in Stiles' brain. That meant moving out of his dad's house, living here full-time when he wasn’t at school. His dad's house wouldn't be his house anymore, for the first time in Stiles' life--his dad would live in it alone. The thought gave Stiles a little pain right in his heart, but then he remembered the guest room there, newly painted and furnished, with a Wolverine night light already plugged into the wall, waiting. His dad wouldn't be alone, if everything went right.

Behind him, Derek was quiet, and his hands were steady. Even though Stiles practically lived here now, it still felt like a leap, and Derek was waiting patiently for Stiles to decide if he was ready for it.

"I could do that," Stiles said, tilting his head when he felt Derek's mouth press against his neck, his smile curve against Stiles' ear. "I guess I like you."

"I _know_ I love you," Derek said and then squawked in surprise when Stiles immediately spun around and started play-slapping him in the head.

"What the hell?" Derek asked, trying to duck away. "Stop!"

"I can't believe you beat me to it," Stiles hissed, outraged, still batting at Derek's ears. "I was going to say it first."

Derek finally caught his wrists and yanked, pulling Stiles against his chest, hands trapped between them. "Well, tough shit. I did it."

Stiles glared at him. "You're such a jerk."

Derek glared back. "So are you."

"I love you, too," Stiles said testily. "Let's have sex."

"Fine," Derek huffed, and shoved Stiles down onto the bed, clean sheets be damned.

Stiles agreed with the philosophy that it was never too late to learn new things about yourself, and that day he learned he liked doing the gentle bone with Derek just fine. And maybe Derek smiled at him and kissed him softly, and maybe it got a little sweet and gross toward the end, but he liked that, too. He liked it a lot, actually. 

~*~

It was a good thing Stiles had already fessed up to Derek Two's evening at the Stilinski house, because when Stiles and Derek got there, they walked into the kitchen and found Dad and Rachel and Edgar at the kitchen table, eating _donuts._ On Chinese night!

Before Stiles could work up any outrage over the donuts, Dad said, "Just in time! We've got news."

"We're gonna be brothers!" Edgar said excitedly…to Derek. Edgar was apparently a little confused about who was who in his new family.

"Great," Derek said, uncertainly. Rachel was holding up her hand, where the engagement ring sparkled on her finger.

"Holy crap! That's awesome news!" Stiles said. 

"Swear word!" Edgar shouted.

Stiles hugged his dad, and then Rachel. In lieu of hugging Edgar, he handed over a quarter. Edgar pocketed it with a satisfied look and then took another bite of his chocolate donut.

"Have a seat, boys," Dad said, steering a wary-looking Derek toward the table. "Anyone want milk?"

"Derek'll have some," Stiles said, shoving Derek into an empty chair before taking one himself. Derek loved milk.

Rachel grabbed a plate and took a donut out of the box and set it in front of Derek. "This one is for you," she said, smiling.

Derek stared down at it. "Oh, maple," he said softly. "I love maple. And it has bacon on it. Thank you."

"Yes, I remembered," Rachel said, looking pleased. "You're welcome."

"Right, of course," Derek said, flicking a glance at Stiles before taking a bite.

"So tell us how it went down," Stiles said, grabbing a jelly donut for himself. The less everyone focused on Derek, the better, at least for now. Derek nudged his knee in silent thanks.

It took a while to tell the story, because Dad and Rachel kept laughing, and interrupting each other, and by the time it was done there was only one donut left in the box but no one could even think of eating it.

Edgar slid down from his chair and then made a beeline straight to Derek, climbing up into his lap like he was invited, while Derek looked like he had no idea what was happening.

"I got a new Wolverine," Edgar said, thrusting the toy at Derek's face. Stiles was ninety-nine percent sure he saw one of Wolverine's claws go straight up Derek's nose, but Derek didn't even flinch.

"Oh, yeah?" Derek said. He gently pried the action figure from Edgar's hand and gave it a thorough examination. "Wolverine's cool." 

"Yeah. Wanna play X-Mens with me?" Edgar asked, closing his chocolatey little hand over Derek's bigger one so they were both holding the toy. "You can be Wolverine."

Derek looked over at Stiles, who smiled and made a shooing motion with his hand. "Sure," Derek said. "That sounds fun."

"You boys can go in the living room," Dad said to Derek. "Stiles can clean up."

"What if I wanna play X-Mens?" Stiles protested. Dad handed him a stack of sticky plates and looked pointedly at the sink.

"Fine!" Stiles huffed, while Derek got up from the table with Edgar in his arms and went into the living room, trailed by Dad and Rachel.

By the time Stiles joined everyone else, Dad was sitting on the loveseat with his arm around Rachel, and Derek and Edgar were engaged in an all-out tickle war. Wolverine and the other superheroes were scattered across the carpet, momentarily forgotten.

Stiles made the mistake of sitting down on the floor, and was immediately attacked, which wasn't fair because Derek knew most of the places Stiles was ticklish. And Stiles' dad—the traitor—helpfully called out the ones Derek _didn't_ know about.

"We're the tickle monsters!" Edgar crowed, digging his sticky fingers into Stiles' armpit until Stiles squealed like a piglet. Derek laughed, eyes mischievous and bright, while Dad and Rachel looked on approvingly.

"All right, you boys better stop or you'll regret it," Dad said eventually, with all the weight of a hard-learned lesson in his voice. He'd once made the mistake of tossing kindergarten-era Stiles in the air right after he'd eaten two bowls of Lucky Charms.

Derek, picking up on Dad’s warning, backed off immediately, and distracted Edgar with his toys. Stiles lay on the floor next to them like a limp noodle while he recovered. His shirt was rucked up under his arms and one of his shoes was missing, and Derek was scritching his fingers through Stiles' hair, not tickling at all. He looked down at Stiles and smiled at him, then at Edgar, who had collected Wolverine and was climbing into his mother's lap.

“You know, Derek coaches a pee-wee soccer team,” Dad said, tugging on Edgar’s ear. He lifted a questioning eyebrow at Rachel. “Sunday afternoons at Cooper Gulch, if you’re interested.”

Stiles froze. _Derek Two_ was the soccer coach, not Derek, and that job was one of the few loose ends that hadn’t been tied up yet. It had rained last Sunday, buying Derek an extra week in which to come up with an excuse for quitting. 

Edgar had the opposite reaction to Stiles: pure, unadulterated excitement. “I have a soccer ball!” he exclaimed. He tugged on Rachel’s shirt sleeve, asking “Mom, can I play?”

“He’s only played with other kids in the neighborhood,” Rachel said hesitantly, looking at Derek.

“I think you’re overestimating the skill level expected from a league with the word ‘pee-wee’ in its name,” Dad said drily. “The last time I stopped to watch, one of the kids kicked the ball into the wrong net and scored a goal against his own team.”

“That actually sounds like a game I’d love to watch,” Rachel laughed. 

“We’ve got room for everyone on the team,” Derek said, and Stiles tried—probably unsuccessfully—to hide his surprise. He glanced up Derek. Derek looked down at him and smiled again, and then helped him tug his shirt back down.

“We’ll come by on Sunday and see if he likes it. Maybe we can all go out for lunch afterwards,” Dad suggested. “The Melthouse is right down the street.”

“That sounds nice,” Rachel said. “We love the Melthouse.”

“Grilled cheese!” Edgar yelled, throwing his arms up in the arm. He turned a truly impressive set of puppy dog eyes up at this mother. “Can I get a shake, too?”

“We’ll see,” Rachel said, showing a greater resistance to puppy dog eyes than Stiles’ father had ever displayed. Poor Edgar.

“Maybe Stiles will share one with you,” Dad suggested. Stiles barely suppressed a snort. The man _still_ had no resistance to puppy dog eyes. “He never finishes his.”

After Stiles got out his phone and checked his work schedule he agreed to come, and to share a shake with Edgar. There was no way he was going to miss a chance to watch Derek Hale deal with thirty little kids. It was probably going to be brutal. Stiles was going to take video.

“Come a little early, and we can go over the rules before everyone else gets there,” Derek offered. 

“No hands!” Edgar said firmly. “That’s a rule.”

“That’s right,” Derek said. “No hands. Unless you’re the goalie.”

“Well, _I_ don’t know the rules, so we’ll definitely be there early,” Rachel said. “Thank you.” She smiled at Derek, and then at Dad, who put his arm around her.

Stiles reached up and caught Derek’s hand, still idly rubbing through Stiles’ hair, and kissed the back of it before resting their joined hands on his chest. Derek gave Stiles’ fingers a little squeeze, but he was already deep in a conversation with Edgar about whether or not Wolverine would be allowed to use his claws while playing soccer.

Everything was going to be all right now, Stiles thought. The alpha pack was gone, Derek had come to peace with himself, there was a powerful alliance of hunters and werewolves and hedgewitches protecting Beacon Hills, and the Stilinski family was about to double in size. 

More than double, actually, if you counted Derek. Which Stiles certainly intended to do when the time was right.

Everything was going to be just fine.

**The End**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Body Acceptance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935597) by [Jinxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxy/pseuds/Jinxy)
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